May the Best Man Win
by Vengeance on a Dark Horse
Summary: After setting Rebekah "free," losing his oldest friend, Klaus becomes inconsolable. While Elijah picks up the pieces, mysterious deaths begin to litter New Orleans- vampire deaths. Worst of all, from the bites on the neck it becomes clear that the murderer is a vampire himself. With the kingdom in shambles, will the Originals be able to bring justice to the Unknown Cannibal?
1. 1 ELIJAH

_**This story is a third-person limited, in-character (no-fluff) AU starring our heroes Klaus, Elijah, Damon, and Enzo. Taking place in New Orleans, it immediately follows The Vampire Diaries Season 5 Episode 13 and The Originals Season 1 Episode 16. All episodes passed that may inspire but have no bearing on the plot of this story. **_

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter One**

**ELIJAH**

The man was anything but young. Yet even with the ancient age of that immortal coil, his youthfulness was not just well preserved in body, but in spirit also.

Elijah nodded to himself at the conclusion of this thought.

'_In other words,' _he thought, '_Brother, you are a child._'

With a slight turn of his thighs, Elijah crossed his legs a little tighter, ensconcing himself deeper into the plush red leather of his wingback chair. He always was partial to the library in every estate he found himself living in over the eons. Now, again, back in headquarters at the heart of New Orleans, he had locked himself in the book room. Lighting a fire in the large brick fireplace, he snuggled into his favorite reading chair and had passed half the evening doing little more than mulling over the events of the past weeks.

A fire danced before his eyes, and fain playing the part of the brooding mystery man, he let his thoughts dance with those flames.

It had been three weeks since Rebekah had left, for good this time, it seemed. Of course, every time she left was "for good this time," but Elijah had a tugging jerk in his gut when he said good-bye. He had watched her, driving away in her car with a wide-eyed smile on her face, and something told him in a muted whisper at the back of his heart that he would not see her again for another hundred years, if that.

Taking a sip at his scotch, Elijah closed his eyes. He could see the orange flash of the fireplace through his eyelids and the image of his memory flashed with it.

—

Only a day or two after Rebekah had left, Elijah walked through the courtyard at headquarters, where just the night before, he had left things on a harsh note with Marcel. The fool, who had managed to undermine the foundations of the Mikaelson family, had returned in some ceremonial gesture of defiance to shake off the dust of his fear and humiliation. Elijah had no patience for it and with one threatening flash in his eyes, he had shown every vampire his place.

Marcel was awestruck – not just by Elijah's uncharacteristic harshness but by Klaus's unheard-of silence, and it seemed that the awe was shared by all the vampires watching on as well. Without a word, Marcel realized today was not the day and slinked off into the shadows of New Orleans's sewage, vowing he would never run away.

'_Does this mean then that Rebekah and Marcel have ended things?_' Elijah found himself thinking as he passed through the courtyard.

He pulled out his phone, hoping beyond hope that perhaps, just perhaps this departure was as much "for good this time" as all the times before. He scrolled through his contacts and clicked on Rebekah's photo.

Putting the phone to his ear, he heard a click and his breath stopped a moment.

"We're sorry! The number you have reached has been disconnected…"

With a sigh, he turned off the phone. So it was for good this time – at least for now. His eyes flitted up to the balcony overlooking the courtyard, to the far left window, through which he saw the dim flicker of a lambent candle and nothing more.

—

Elijah took another sip at his scotch and took a peep over his shoulder. The library overlooked the courtyard as well, and as he peeked through the curtains he could see that far left window with the dull flame casting an eerie orange into the darkness of the room beyond. It was Klaus's room, and since the night Klaus crept off in silent indifference to Marcel's approach, the hybrid had entered that room with a heavy thud of the door and a metallic click of the lock.

It had been near on three weeks, and Elijah had yet to see his younger brother emerge from that ill-lit room.

"What a child, he is, pouting night and day," Elijah mumbled with a lazy roll of his eyes as he returned his attention to the fireplace. There was nothing quite as soothing as an evening fire on a brisk autumn night, but there was nothing quite as certain to ruin it as a lurking suspicion.

Three weeks, three weeks had come and gone without a single tantrum, without a single undeserved bout of violence, without a single moment where Elijah had to step in as the wiser older brother. Yet Elijah could not help but suspect that Klaus was in a dark place.

Three weeks had come and gone, yet still Elijah could not muster up the courage to knock on his brother's door. Something in his gut told him that Rebekah would not come back this time, and something in his gut told him, that Klaus wouldn't either.


	2. 2 ENZO

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Two**

**ENZO**

A lot can happen in eight hours. A lot of people can die. For better or worse, Enzo was lucky enough not be one of those people this time round.

—

Last night, the gas in their car had chugged its little heart out just as they reached the edge of the Visitor's Center. Enzo and Damon stepped out into the open air, sucking it in with deep breaths. As the tall dark trees bent over them in a canopy, it was all black and motionless and deafened with the sound of stridulating grasshoppers.

"_Je-_sus!" Damon cursed, slamming the car door shut, "You'd think they were having an orgy."

Enzo snorted a chuckle and walked across the dust and pebble parking lot. They were at the edge of a wooded park with a chain of mountains not so far away bulging menacingly over them as a vague mass of black and blue in the darkness. A few SUVs populated the parking lot, and as Enzo walked down he peeked through the car windows briefly. Not a soul to be seen. There at the edge of the parking lot was a shack, the last sign of human civilization before the nature trail led into the gnarly brushes of the night woods. In front of the shack were various shelves of brochures on boy scouts and national parks and forest fires, and there on the wall, dimly lit by a single buzzing fluorescent, was a map.

Wafting away the lurking gnats, Enzo combed over the map, letting a finger wander the trails in search for the perfect spot.

"I mean, could they be any louder?" Damon said again, a little louder this time, as he strode coolly Enzo's way with his hands in his pockets. There was a hint of curiosity in the tilt of his head and a visible sign of irritation in the knot in his brow when he realized Enzo was not listening.

"Did you hear me?" Damon arched a brow.

Enzo gave a faint nod with his eyes still hooked on the map, but in an afterthought, he glanced at Damon briefly.

"At least it's crickets and not cicadas," he remarked.

Damon sighed, "Don't get me started on cicadas."

He threw up his hands, "Hell, don't get me started on wildlife in general, which – now that you bring it up, and thanks by the way for bringing it up – begs the question, _why _are we out here again? I must have dozed off during that part of the discussion because, you know, most people like to discuss things before they drag each other into the middle of fucking nowhere!"

Enzo lit up, throwing his finger at the map, that perfect spot.

"Bingo!" he shouted and then turned abruptly to Damon, "You aren't afraid of the dark now are you, Damon?"

Damon scowled, "What?"

"It's time to play a little game. So stop your fussing, and let's eat!"

"Eat _what _exactly?" Damon scoffed, folding his arms, "Gazelle?"

Enzo threw back his head and laughed, walking over to the nature trail.

"We're not on safari, Damon," Enzo pointed to the welcome sign at the head of the trail, "We're in Tennessee!"

_WELCOME TO THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK! _Damon read, and then followed Enzo onto the trail.

—

"Mommy!"

There was a sharp _zip_, and the tent opened.

"Mommy!" the little girl shook the sleeping bag, pushing at her mother's shoulder. With a groggy groan, the woman flopped over to face her daughter.

"Mommy, a montoos took Daddy!" the little girl sniffled.

"What, baby?" the woman grumbled, half asleep.

"A montoos!"

Flipping her eyes open, she instinctively reached to her left at the sleeping bag next to hers. It was warm but empty.

"John?" she said with worry in her voice, "Where is he?"

"A montoos took him!" the little girl shrieked, stomping in place with frustration. The woman fumbled through her sleeping bag and pulled out a flashlight. It clicked on and she flashed it toward her daughter. The girl was pale, with a wild glint in her eyes as she jumped in place.

The woman took the girl by her arms to soothe her.

"There's no such thing as monsters baby."

The woman felt something wet on her hands and pulled back her hand. Lifting up the flashlight, she pointed it at her hand. There was blood.

"Oh my God, baby, are you hurt?"

She pointed it up. The girl's pajamas were soaked in blood.

"Oh my God, baby!" the woman shouted, "What happened?!"

"A montoos took Daddy…" the girl said, a blank slate now, with a ghostly shock settling in her emotionless features.

Pulling the girl into the tent, the woman looked to her daughter, "Stay here. Don't move. I'll be right back."

With the flashlight, she left the tent, zipping it closed behind her.

"John!" she shouted out, "John, are you there?"

A twig snapped. A leaf rustled. The woman took a few steps away from the tent toward the noise. She pointed the flashlight forward and saw a black silhouette hunched over at the bottom of a tree, hidden behind a bush.

Her breathing deepened, quickened.

"John?" she squeaked. There was a faint moan and a soft liquid sound, perhaps of something being slurped up.

She could hear her heart beating. She walked over to the tree, and as each step took her closer to the dark bush at the base of the trunk, the liquid sound grew a little louder, a little more distinct. She could hear flesh being torn and something being chewed and lapped up, as if a wild beast was feeding on a fresh catch.

The dim glow of the flashlight was shaking back and forth with the tremor in her hand as she approached the bush.

"Hello?" she said, peaking over it. And then, there was darkness.

—

Enzo lifted up his hands over his head and groaned as he stretched. His eyes squinting, he sucked in the morning sun, ready for the day.

"Smoke?" he said with a nod of his chin, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a pack.

"Enzo!" Damon wagged a disapproving finger as he sat cross-legged at the base of a tree. A little girl was sitting on his lap, her pink pajamas stained with blood, a wide dumb smile on her face.

"You know those things will kill you!" Damon wagged his finger in the girl's face and tapped at her nose. She giggled, a bright glow rising in her cheeks as she snuggled into Damon's lap.

"Not if you eat me first," Enzo gave a wink, lighting a cigarette and taking in a deep breath.

"Well, I wasn't planning on it," said Damon, lifting to a stand and heaving the girl onto hers, "but you know, if I have to wait much longer for this lady, I can't make any promises."

Damon perked his head toward the campsite. The tent was in tatters, shredded up, with a man's dead body drained of blood lying in the midst of the flotsam. A few steps away from the tree where Damon stood, was another body, a woman's.

Kneeling over, Damon took the girl by her chin and gave her a stern look. She mimicked back a frown.

"Your mommy is a _very deep sleeper_, did you know that?" said Damon.

The little girl nodded.

"Well, I didn't." Damon walked up impatiently to the body and kicked at it a limb. It limply flopped up and fell down without response.

Tugging at his hair, Damon paced back and forth, groaning loudly.

"_Aggh!_" he hissed, squeezing at his tensing shoulders, "I can't take it. I can't take it!"

Enzo sucked in another breath of his cigarette nervously and walked over to the body.

"It can't be much longer…" he mumbled.

"It needs to be _now_," Damon rolled his jaw over, clenching his fists in and out as he paced.

Slapping at the woman's cheek, Enzo began to glance back and forth between the body and Damon's growing agitation.

"C'mon," Enzo tugged at the body, giving it another slap. No response.

"Damn it!" Enzo shot up to a stand and kicked the body in frustration, and then instantly the woman woke up, sucking in a painful, horrified breath.

"It's a miracle!" Damon threw up his hands with impatience.

Enzo took a bite at his wrist.

"Where am I?" the woman looked at Enzo confusedly as he bent over her.

"Mommy!" the little girl jumped in place and started to move but before she took a step, Damon pointed her way.

"_Stay_," he said as if commanding a dog, and the girl with pupils bloodshot moved not an inch.

"What's going on?!" the woman shouted.

"Shh, shh, shh," Enzo said in a soothing tone, putting his wrist in front of the woman's face. Without a moment's delay, she drank from it.

"There you go!" Damon clapped at Enzo, "Was that so hard? Why did we have to come to the middle of the Hicky Mountains to do this again?"

Enzo stood up, his whole face contorted with rage, "If we are going to live like this, then we can't get caught! If anyone knew about _you_, about what you've _become_…"

Damon put his hand over his heart with a sarcastic smile, "I'm touched. You're thinking of our future. All those years ahead of us!"

Walking over to the woman, lying confusedly on the floor, Damon kneeled over her and began to feed, patting at her head as she slipped into sleep in her growing weakness from the rising sun.

Enzo watched on with a scowl on his face.

The woman flopped onto the ground, limp and twice dead. Damon pulled out the phone from her pocket and walked over to the silent little girl.

"A bear killed your parents," he said to her, "Call 911. Do you know how to do that?"

She nodded.

"Good," he said and turned to Enzo, "Let's go…preferably far the fuck from here. You know, I could really go for some Cajun food right now."

The tension died down, and Enzo rolled his eyes with a smirk creeping on his face.

"You just ate!"

"Hey!" Damon threw up his hands, "I'm just thinking ahead is all!"

And with that, they left.


	3. 3 HAYLEY

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Three**

**HAYLEY**

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" Hayley rocked her hips, leaning her weight into her right leg as a thumb stuck glibly through a loop on the side of her jeans. She must have come across sarcastic, daring to be called a nut as she stood her ground with a gargantuan beast lurking behind her, the mere height of its haunches towering above her waist. In penitence for leading the witches unknowingly against his princess, Jackson had reemerged in rapid fire. The moment he caught sight of Hayley striding past the threshold of the Mikaelson headquarters, he took it upon himself to accompany her – sometimes to their wolf pack in the bayou, as they eagerly approached the night of the full moon when Celeste's cure was supposed to come in effect; other times, though, he followed her to the packed parking lot at the local mall. Whenever a stranger approached, he was the first to sniff them down, a terrifying experience when the sight of him was imposing enough as is.

The thought racing through her mind, Hayley glanced back at Jackson, dutifully behind her on all fours with a dour glint in his eyes, yellow as a thirsty flame raging into a burst.

She turned her way back to Camille, the bartender, and opened her mouth to speak but before she could Camille waved a hand with an understanding shake of her head.

"Look, we're all nuts, I get it," Camille combed her fingers through her hair, "We live in a world of vampires and witches – and werewolves, apparently."

She gestured toward their finely furred friend, and Jackson snorted, pawing at the ground.

"I've no problem with it, I think," Camille said with a deep breath, closing her eyes and giving herself a reassuring nod before opening them again, "I've no problem with the invite, either. I appreciate it. It just came out of nowhere, but you know, I'm honored."

With a ceremonial bow of her head, Camille flashed a smile, and with a chuckle, Hayley bowed back, flourishing her hand.

"Alright!" Hayley shouted, "Then let's go!"

They walked down the busy New Orleans street tracing along the looming walls of Klaus's headquarters, up to the rusting red truck sitting alongside a parking meter. Jackson trotted behind the two women, drawing strange glances, until he leapt into the bed of the pickup, snuggling down into a pile of hay.

As Hayley pulled out from the parking place, she tugged the seatbelt over with one hand, chewing at her bottom lip as the car drove into the street.

"It's the little things," she wagged her head, yanking at the seatbelt in one great heave, "The little things like getting this goddamned seatbelt – there we go!"

The seatbelt stretched smoothly out and clipped into place. Hayley sighed, flashing an apologetic grin Camille's way.

"As I was saying, like getting this dear beloved seatbelt around my bloated belly – those are the things I hate about being pregnant," Hayley explained, moving her hands around the steering wheel as she talked, "The rest of it hasn't really bothered me that much, which I took as a surprise since the movies are always making such a big deal out of it all. But I guess I was never the squirmy type."

Camille nodded without a word, and then scrunching up her lips, she reached out a hand and pressed on Hayley's shoulder lightly.

"You're not bloated, by the way," she said, "I think you look very nice today."

Hayley gave a vigorous nod of her head, "It's all in the shoes, baby!"

The drive went on in silence as the bright flags whipping in the city breezes grew less and less and the swampy ferns sprawled out wider and wider. A cloud of dust began to rumble around the wheels of the truck, and as it took a sudden right into a narrow chalk lane, for a moment neither driver nor passenger could see anything but white and the faint outline of a forest of cat o nine tails.

The dust subsided, and through the red pall of the setting sun, Hayley could see a little wooden house nestled at the end of the tapering trail.

"You know, I'm sorry to toss this all at you on such short notice," Hayley said in hindsight, "In an ideal situation, I would have taken my loving husband to the clinic, but here I am, asking some girl I hardly know – lovely as she may be, I hardly know her! – to come see a witch doctor. I know, I know, it screams pathetic."

Camille moaned in protest, "No, it doesn't! If I were you, I wouldn't want to come out _here _alone, that's for sure."

Hayley gave a knowing nod, "I here you, girl. There's nothing but bad juju just by the looks of it."

The truck screeched to a halt, stopping at the base of the house as an elderly black Cajun woman opened the door to the house, walking out onto the porch with a wide wave and a smile.

Hayley wafted back an exaggerated twirl of her fingers and a half-hearted smile before unlocking her seatbelt.

"I usually would have taken Rebekah with me on this sort of thing – the boys won't even think of it," she explained, "But—"

Camille nodded instantly, "Right. Don't think anything of it. I'm glad to be here. It'll be an experience, if nothing else."

—

Rolling back her eyes, Hayley breathed in with the witch's methodic massages as the old woman poured a heap of warm oils all across Hayley's round belly.

Hayley rolled her elbows and neck in time with the massage, and as her eyes passed over Camille, who stood by as a reverent onlooker, Hayley pointed at the old witch and mouthed out the words.

'_My fav-or-ite part!' _Hayley mouthed, then whispered, 'She's awesome!'

The witch paid no heed, wrapped intensely into her massaging fingers. She froze, then brought her ear to Hayley's stomach, listening carefully.

A second passed. Hayley and Camille gazed on curiously.

"Mhm!" the witch hummed assuredly, "Mhm! It's coming on any day now, hun."

She lifted back up and continued the massage.

"Really?" Hayley perked her head, "Like when?"

"Oooh, Tuesday maybe, but she's not the hurrying type, I don't think," the old witch shrugged, "so Friday if she's in the mood."

Hayley rubbed at the back of her neck with a slight pucker of her lips, "So basically, the oven is ready, and the cake is done!"

"You got it, sugar," the witch nodded, pulling away from Hayley and turning to a kitchen counter full of herbs and oils.

"Great," Hayley sighed, "Why is this making me hungry?"

Breaking her bout of silence, Camille coughed up a meek little laugh, "Ha!"

Then, clearing her throat, she contained herself, "Are you always like this?"

"Hungry? _Oh yeaaah_, I'm a wolf!" Hayley said with a jerk of her shoulders, "I was born to eat!"

"No, I mean, this funny?"

"I'm funny?" Hayley raised a brow, rubbing at her stomach to spread the glisten of the witch's oil all across her protrusion.

"You're a bit of a clown, hun," the witch wagged her head, wiping her hands on a towel and walking into the next room, with the swinging door closing behind her.

"Wow!" Hayley lit up, smiling down at her belly and waving Camille over. As Camille approached, Hayley instantly seized a hand and put it on her stomach.

"Wow…" Camille thought aloud, "_wow! _She's right in there."

Hayley gave a proud nod, "Just a half an inch away. My little angel. Andréa…"

Camille smiled in her eyes, "Is that what you're naming her?"

"Ah, I don't know," Hayley scanned her eyes over the tables around her, pick up a towel and rubbing off some of the extraneous oil. Pulling down her shirt, she reached out a hand and Camille helped her off the table she had been laying on.

"It's just an old wolf name from my pack, but I haven't set anything in stone," Hayley went on as she took her jean jacket slung over a chair and began to slip her arms inside the sleeves.

"I don't think Klaus would hear of it, but I've been thinking about it, you know?" she lifted her dark curls over her jacket and gave Camille a confident nod, a gentle thoughtfulness weighing down her brow, "I think I can get away with naming her – I think Elijah would like it."

As they walked over to the door of the house, Hayley shouted out her good-bye's and thank-you's to the old witch as they wandered onto the porch into the quiet chirping of the newborn night.

"You really like him, don't you? Elijah, I mean," Camille ventured as they headed toward the truck.

"_No_," Hayley shot out with an uncharacteristic sharpness. She instantly blushed and turned to take Camille by the hands.

"Sorry, that came out wrong, it's just—"

"Hormones, I get it!" Camille pulled her hands away, "Vampires, witches, werewolves – they're nothing compared to a mother!"

The look of sudden worry washed off Hayley's face, overtaken by a quick flash of humor.

"_Right!_" she said and walked on over to the front door of the truck, thinking nothing of it, but Camille had cast her eyes down as she approached the passenger door, clenching her jaw.

The car started, the wolf waiting still as a sentry in the trunk, with his soft yellow eyes flashing like a lion's in the deep of the night.

Halfway home, the road had come and gone to the lilting tunes of bluegrass.

Camille was tense all over, grappling the body of her seat with the edges of her long-nailed fingers.

"You should be careful," she said softly, her eyes widening a little when she realized she had finally said it.

When Hayley made no protest, she ventured further still.

"I don't really know Elijah, but I know Klaus," Camille said, "I wouldn't want to get caught between those two, especially with a kid involved."

Hayley gave a breathy sigh, wordless, yet shouting out, _I hear you, sister!_

Then she spoke, with a high pitch to her voice, hoping to make light of it all.

"What's there to catch?" she forced a laugh, "Cammy, I'm fine! Believe me!"

Camille tilted her head, "You just called me Cammy."

"Did I?"

"Yeah…"

"I'm sorry," Hayley said, glancing over to the passenger seat, "Do you not like that?"

"No, no," Camille raised a hand, "I kind of liked it. You know, I think you and I, we're gonna work out."

"Good," Hayley gave a determined nod, reaching down and patting her stomach, "We girls gotta stick together! Speaking of girls! This little rollercoaster is _on the move! _Just like her mommy…"

Camille smiled, a faint smile, a sad smile, thinking silently to herself, 'Let's hope so…"


	4. 4 ELIJAH

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Four**

**ELIJAH**

Swift breaths filled their chests as they alighted from the New Orleans rooftops and rushed their knees up and down until they felt themselves slinging through the shadowy alleyways as naught but a gust and a blur. The adrenaline pumped through them and the airy feeling lifted to their heads – the world was theirs, the quarter was theirs, the vampires ruled the city.

Then, with a sheer swerve round a corner, they lost their footing, slipping on a puddle and falling with a hard smack on their backs, their heads dribbling against the concrete.

"Hey!" a voice barked out.

Before either one of the newborn vampires could recover, there was a flash of vivid blue eyes, and on a sudden, a figure lunged toward them. The attacker's hands arched like hooks that lashed out and gouged into the younger vampire's torso. In one heave, the young vampire was dragged onto his feet as a foaming pair of fangs threw toward his throat.

"Enough!" cried a commanding voice, and in an instant the attacker was seized by the hair and reined in, yanked away from the newborns.

Elijah stood there, grappling the blue-eyed vampire by his hair and his neck as he floundered for freedom.

The Original was stiff in his fresh-pressed suit, black as always, and grimaced as his opponent's struggle grew. Tossing a glance to the three other onlookers behind them in the alleyway, Elijah tightened his lips and spoke in a subdued tone.

"I _advise_, gentlemen," he said, "that you control this man or I will be obliged to turn to more unfortunate methods."

Then, glancing up to the rooftops, Elijah called out, "Diego!"

A dark-skinned vampire leapt down from the roof with a handful of others, all braced for a fight with gripped fists.

"Diego, make sure these gentlemen comply with their orders," Elijah said, "If they do not, do what you must."

The onlookers lowered their heads and obediently came forward, taking the blue-eyed vampire from Elijah's grip.

"That's enough, Lynn," they muttered, "We'll deal with it later."

Elijah's ear perked as he walked over to the fallen newborns and offered his hand, assisting them to their feet.

"No, we'll deal with this now," he said loudly, casting his eyes around at everyone around him, "I will not have in-fighting, not now. You will explain _this_, or you will die."

The newborns stood gaping, cow-eyed, as they beheld him pointing directly at them. They looked down to see their pants and shoes drenched in crimson. Whisking around, they saw the puddle they slipped on in the midst of their race –

It was no puddle. It was a pile of viscous blood and marrow. In a halo around it were innards scattered around haphazardly, each piece getting larger until it trailed off into a line of organs and limbs. There at the end of it all was the head of the victim, her face drawn and shocked as if looking on it all in horror.

"They murdered her!" screamed the vampire that had attacked the newborns. His blue eyes were cast their way.

"We –" the newborns were speechless, shaking their heads, "No. No."

Elijah reached up to his brow and massaged the skin on the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

"We will take this to Headquarters and investigate further," he said. Diego bowed, commanding his companions with glances and gestures, as they seized all the vampires on sight.

But the blue-eyed vampire broke free, darting past Elijah and onto a newborn. The vampire rammed a hand into the newborn's throat but before another muscle twitched, the vampire felt a sudden tug and then collapsed limply to the floor. Elijah stood there with the fool's heart in his hand.

—

It was not unusual for there to be a crowd of strange vampires in the courtyard whenever she entered the estate, as it seemed the Mikaelson family had inherited Marcel's "open door" policy whether they liked it or not. As Hayley lingered at the threshold of the front gate, today, it seemed, they liked it not.

A heated debate passed between two families of vampires, accusations thrown left and right, and the third-party neutral judge was having difficulty quieting the ruckus. Towering over them all from the top of the stairs, Elijah watched on with a dour look draining his features.

"Don't you think we don't know it was you – who else could it have been? You blamed us for Chrissie's death; you said you would get payback!" said one family head.

"He did get payback," the judge pleaded, "Your family paid the blood money."

"Not willingly! We did so under the shadow of a threat," the family head hissed, casting a dark glance at Elijah, "No man laid a hand on Chrissie."

"Do you honestly expect anyone to believe that two deaths, consecutive to one another, directly tied to your family feud is somehow merely a coincidence?" Elijah hollered over every one's shouting, descending the steps at a slow and judging pace, "Even while one family was caught in the very act of continuing that feud through yet another death?"

"That was the act of a boy and a fool," the family head looked to the judge, ignoring Elijah's presence, "And he paid his price."

"And you will yours!" Elijah shouted, "Arrest him."

Diego and the others stepped up and seized family head. A wave of murmurs and complaints rushed across the crowd, but the family head made no resistance.

"Elijah," the judge reached out a hand, looking up at the foot of the steps, where Elijah now stood, "He is the head of the family, not the perpetrator. The trial is still on."

"And it will continue, as we investigate further into the matter," said Elijah, "But as you said, he is the head of the family. No act of violence went without his consent – direct or indirect."

"And would that mean that I am to be arrested to?" the rival family head stepped forward, her hands defiantly on her hips.

"Your men were not caught in the act of violence, but if they are – even in the slightest degree, from a threat to bar-crawl brawl – you will hear of it…"

And with that, Elijah walked up the stairs again and retreated into the library, to the sound of a mass of protests. But the guards swept through and cleared the courtyard, dispersing the onlookers and confining the prisoners.

—

There was a slight clank as glass met glass. Elijah poured out the scotch, filling his glass to the brim and setting aside the crystal decanter on a side table.

Once again, it was only the flames in the freshly lit fireplace that could bring it all back. He closed his eyes and smirked a little as he sniffed in the strong scent of his liquor. If he concentrated, he could feel, too, the crisp pinch of the fire's warmth as its heat traveled across the room.

"I went to the doctor – well, the witch doctor."

He opened his eyes and looked back. It was Hayley. He tried to smile at her but found he was too weak.

"The baby's good. She's almost ready to pop."

He tried again, but he knew it was hopeless. So setting aside his drink next to the decanter, he stood up and bowed his head a little in a proper welcome.

"Aren't you gonna say something?" said Hayley.

"What is there to say?" Elijah shrugged, "It is the end of the day, and I look forward to some peace and quiet over the night."

"You look worried."

Elijah frowned a little at this and turned away from her. He felt the room grow crowded, and so turning, he walked over to the window and leaned out and breathed in a nice long breath.

"Is it about what happened outside?" Hayley ventured, "That was some trial, huh?"

He did not turn.

"You just sort of threw innocent before proven guilty right out the window there for sec, huh?"

Hayley saw him stand a little straighter, his shoulders spreading a little wider. She gently crossed the room and settled by his side. She saw him sneak a couple of glimpses her way in his peripherals.

"You don't have to do everything – there was a judge there wasn't there?" she started to reach out a hand toward his shoulder, "You could have let him take on a little bit—"

Elijah swung around so suddenly that Hayley yanked back her hand in surprise.

"Do not presume to know what it means to rule, Hayley," he said forcefully with a clench of his jaw, "You lie to yourself if you think you know what truly goes on here."

Hayley's mouth went ajar, hurt flashing across her face. She turned around and began to leave the room.

Immediately, Elijah groaned at himself and followed her, taking her softly by the elbow.

"Forgive me," he said, "That came out stronger than I meant."

Hayley shook her head, "No. That's exactly what you meant."

Nodding, Elijah cast his attention to the floor, brooding for a moment in self-contemplation. He felt her fingers touch his cheek and her palm settle gently round the curve of his jaw.

"These men do not deserve the benefit of the doubt because they will see it as weakness if I give it to them," he said, but he did not look up, "When you try to unite a people, you cannot be weak."

Hayley leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Do what you gotta do," she said and exited the room.

Elijah let his hand linger on his cheek a moment after she left, and when he wandered back to the window he realized his hand was still there – the same place hers had been only moments ago. Then with one lift of his eyes, he saw it: the window across the courtyard, the lambent candle, the dark room. His hand dropped immediately, and he left the room.

—

The peace and quiet he had hoped for did not come. Elijah could not rest all through the night. Even as he closed his eyes, he could see that window across the courtyard. What once seemed a heavenly touch on his cheek, he imagined to burn in the recesses of his mind.

That was it. He could not stand it. He leapt from his bed and raced out of his bedroom, dressed only in his black velvet robe. His bare feet pressed silently across the wooden floors as he marched around the upper balconies to the other side of the courtyard.

There was the door, heavy, red, and wooden, with a brass knocker in the shape of a wolf baring its teeth. He took a hold of the knocker, and in his nervousness, rapped harder than he had realized he would. The door creaked open, and he could not resist.

"Klaus?" he whispered, peeking in his head.

But nobody was there. The room was empty and black, with all the curtains drawn except that one window with the candle flickering plainly. Yet all across the floor, there were charcoal sketches of indiscernible figures, all across the wall there were easels, and on all the easels there were paintings, abstract and without reason, full of deep blacks, dark blues, and a sudden onset of red – bright and vivid as blood.


	5. 5 DAMON

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Five**

**DAMON**

His fingers were clammy, and he could feel his grip slipping from the sweat as he clung onto the forearm, burying his teeth into Enzo's wrist and suckling greedily like a newborn pup at its mother's teat.

Enzo grew wan, the color drawing from his face, and with a grimace, he pulled back his wrist but Damon clung to it harder. So with the sharp tug of a handful of black hair, Enzo wrenched Damon's head away.

They both grunted at each other angrily, tossing to the side and refusing eye contact. Enzo stretched out his wrist, rolling it in a circle as his other hand turned a key. The car engine roared and in an instant a jarring metal clash and a scream boomed in their ears.

"Fuck!" Enzo cursed, flicking off the radio. He took the steering wheel with both hands and rested his forehead on it a moment, taking in a deep breath.

He popped up suddenly, changed the gears of the car and drove off.

"Well, that was a bad idea," he said curtly.

"_Your _bad idea," Damon muttered crossing his arms.

"We're only an hour or so from the city," Enzo assured Damon, "You can't possibly be _that _hungry still."

"Enzo," Damon snipped, "I want to think of when you first turned. I want you to think of that moment, that first moment when you realized it was blood you wanted more than anything in the world. Now I want you to take that and stick it up your ass – because that is nothing compared to what I'm feeling right now!"

Damon gripped his knees until his knuckles went white, kicking at the floor mat with a groan.

"I'm not fucking hungry," he shouted, "I'm _starving!_"

Enzo nodded, darting his eyes down to the odometer behind the steering wheel.

_Sixty-five mph…seventy-five…eighty…ninety…_

"Well, then," he said as the engine roared, "We better find you something to eat…"

—

It was the beat. It was the flashing of bright lights in the darkness – the blue, the purple, the pink that brought them all closer. It was the warmth of all the bodies around her cramped on the dance floor. It was the warmth of the sweat that was trickling down her bare back as she moved her body, grinding with the beat.

He touched her neck with his finger, trailing it down the nape and onto the contour of her shoulder. She felt his lips on her cheek, then she felt them stroke up to her ear. He hovered there a moment panting with hot wet breaths.

"Let's go," he said and what could she do but nod. She let him take her by the hand; she let him lead her through the crowd, snaking through until they found the door. They stepped outside and the door slammed shut behind them.

In an instant, the music was nothing more than a muted thudding vibrating through the red bricks of the graffiti-tagged building. She stood a moment, as her sense readjusted, absorbing in the dull streetlight that flickered weakly onto the street.

The color was no longer there. The warmth was gone in the chill of the night. And when she looked at him, he looked paler than she had first realized. He still held her hand, and as he walked forward, he felt her resistance. He glanced at her wordless.

"Where are we –" she started, but he dragged her forward. They paced swiftly into an alleyway around a sharp corner. They crossed past a dumpster, and then he turned around, leading her to the base of the building next to them so that her back was against the bricks.

He kissed her, deep, and she lifted her whole body into him, wrapping her arms around him and combing her long fingers through his dark hair. His kisses left her lips and skipped freely around her cheeks, her chin, and then to her neck.

He began to suck the skin, nipping it between his teeth, but the nipping deepened. It pierced the skin.

She opened her eyes, but it was too late. He had pierced her neck with his bite, and her windpipe was crushed. Her hands clung to him desperately, scratching at his back, but he was lost, drinking in deep.

The door of the club flung open with a clash as a crowd tumbled out, raucously shouting and laughing between each other.

But he was lost.

"I would advise against that," said a voice, at a volume not much louder than a whisper.

But he was lost. His sucking went deeper, more vehement, as her veins emptied, and in his hunger, he bit deeper, deeper.

A hand rested on his shoulder. Startled, he flung around, his jaws still clenched on the victim, and as he turned the flesh tore, a bone snapped, and with a tumble, the woman's head fell onto the ground. He looked back, confused at the headless body, and let it go, stepping back in disgust. The body collapsed limply onto the cement.

"You see?" said the voice, "That's what I thought might happen."

He turned again toward the voice, but nothing was there but shadows. He could hear the shouting crowd stumble down the street toward the alleyway.

"Chrissie?" someone called, "Chrissie?"

He sped down the alleyway, passing over into a different street and passing over still more, once, twice, thrice, until he found himself lost in the streets of New Orleans. Then, at last, he felt himself breathing a little easier. He could hear nothing but the echoes of his thoughts and the echoes of his feet.

_Clip, clop. Clip, clop. Clip, clop – clop._

He froze. Another pair of footsteps? He swerved around and could have sworn he saw the scrambling of a distant shadow.

"What do you want?" he shouted.

Silence.

"Are you just gonna stalk me all night? I don't know if anyone's told you, but that's no way to win a girl's heart!"

Silence, and then, the rise of a silhouette from behind a distant wall.

Damon opened his mouth, about to speak, when he felt another hand take him by the shoulder. He wrenched away and looked around, with fists prepared.

"Enzo!" Damon shouted in surprise, "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Where have I been?" Enzo gaped in disbelief, "Looking for you, you idiot! You can't just wander of like that – I woke up and you were gone!"

Damon tilted his head.

"What," he said, "did you fall asleep at the club?"

Both of them stared at each other, nonplussed.

"Damon, what the fuck are you talking about?" Enzo rubbed his forehead in exasperation, "What club?"

"The club," Damon said with finality, "The club we spent half the fucking night at!"

Enzo arched a brow, with a cockeyed look as if he thought Damon insane, "Damon, we only just got here half an hour ago. We got here at ten, right, remember? Because that radio station started its commercial-less program – that started at ten, but _you said _we should turn the radio off because you wanted to snooze a bit."

Reaching out his wrist, Enzo turned the face of the wristwatch to Damon.

_10:36 P.M._

"I don't…" Damon trailed off, "So what're you saying?"

"I don't know – it looks like you sleep walked," Enzo shrugged.

"I sleep walked for half a mile?"

Enzo shook his head, "No, look!"

He pointed back – the car was parked only a block or two down the road.

Damon frowned and said nothing. The two men stared at each other again, not sure what more to say.

"So," Enzo broke the ice, "you want to go find something to eat now?"

Damon shook his head, "You know, I dreamed I ate a whole Thanksgiving Dinner table full of guests."

Enzo scowled, "You're not hungry?"

Damon shrugged.

"Great," Enzo said, pulling out a pink slip of paper, "So I got this for nothing?"

It was a speeding ticket.


	6. 6 KLAUS

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Six**

**KLAUS**

'_It is the privilege of royalty to come and go as pleases them. King George III was known to go more than not, retreating into anonymity on occasions to recuperate from illness. It was said that King George III of England suffered from bouts of mania – so severe at times that his physicians would restrain him in a strait jacket. I cannot attest to the truth of this, for I was in France at the time, enjoying the sweet nectars of the Enlightenment philosophers and artists. What I can attest to is this: there is no madness in royalty, only madness in ruling. To rule is a funny thing – a thing when in its undiluted form necessitates times of respite and recuperation. Otherwise, what else would one be driven to but madness? Perhaps I cannot say I am truly withdrawn from public life, but for now I would place down my crown and take a nice long breath of clean, unadulterated air. This alas is not the privilege of royalty – it is what we wish for but never receive…_'

—

Camille walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at her stoically without any twinkle of sudden recognition. It was as though he expected to see nothing but her face.

"What're you writing?" she said with a kind smile and a tilt of her head as she sat in the pew behind him.

They were in the church, the safe haven of the Human Quarter. It was still with a reverent silence as altar boys came and went attending to the Holy Relics.

Klaus turned around in his pew to look back at Camille, sticking a finely pointed pen into a page of his suede-bound journal and closing it.

Camille glimpsed down as he closed the journal and flashed an apologetic smirk.

"I didn't mean to be nosy," she said, "You were just writing so…"

He kept staring at her blankly, deeply with those deep eyes of his.

"So furiously," she completed her thought and then averted her eyes in embarrassment at his silent intensity.

Standing up, she walked into the aisle next to his pew.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked.

He shook his head and nothing more, but when he noticed her waiting for some explanation he sighed.

"I am here for your uncle."

"He's indisposed," Camille rubbed the back of her arm self-consciously.

Cocking his head, Klaus rose to his feet, "The hex?"

Camille gave a subtle nod.

"I came only to thank him," Klaus said placing a hand on Camille's arm in a nurturing touch, "He did a service to my people, which yielded more than I had first anticipated."

"I can…" Camille faltered, chewing at the inside of her bottom lip, "I can take you to him."

He followed her into the back rooms of the church, climbing up the stairs to the steeple where Davina was once imprisoned.

—

"If you please…" he said nothing more, but she understood from the slight arch of his brow. She left the room, closing the door behind her in silence.

"_Klaus_…" the priest grumbled as if spitting out the lowest of expletives, "What do you want?"

Father Kieran was rolled out on the floor in chains. With a lightly growing beard accumulated on his chin, he sat wheezing and red-eyed in the dimly lit bell tower.

Klaus strolled up to a Tiffany lamp on an end table with a lampshade of gaudy violet and blue crystal. He tugged at the chain, and subdued light brightened the room. Father Kieran immediately recoiled. He tried to shield his eyes with a hand, but he reached the end of the chain and he could reach out no further.

"Turn it off!" he shouted.

Klaus walked up to the Father's feet, standing stiff and straight with both hands folded in front of him.

"Come now, it's just a light," said Klaus, "What are you, a vampire?"

The priest glared daggers through the man across from him.

"I am not here as your enemy," Klaus knelt down, returning the priest's glare with equal force, "I am here to tell you that I will help you. I will see what further I can do to assist you in anyway during this…tribulation."

"Why?" Father Kieran coughed out with suspicion.

"I owe you," Klaus said, "You see, there was a little kindness you granted my family – my wolf family, during the rains and fires of Davina's magic. You gave them shelter. Their gratitude should have been to you, but they seemed to give it to me for gaining your assistance. And in their gratitude, they gave me something, something I've always wanted."

"What?"

Klaus shook his head, "That does not concern you. What does concern you is this: name anything, anything and I will give it you in the interest of justice."

"Since when have you ever cared about justice?"

Klaus stood up and walked to the exit, speaking over his shoulder, "My interest is always justice. But unlike you, Father, I like God must see to both the justice of mercy and the justice of death."

He opened the door but not before the priest moved his hands in a beckon. The chains rattled with him.

"What are you up to?"

But Klaus left, closing the door without a word.

—

'_An artist is by nature kind and cruel. He is kind for he makes everything in perfection, even in its imperfection. He, to the best of his knowledge and ability, makes his depictions of imperfection perfectly. He is cruel for he has no mercy in that depiction. If the perfection of depiction is to make a thing hideous, he shall make it hideous. I have always thought there was an art to ruling, to power, for in all things, a king's decision must be either kind or cruel. Anything in between either extreme is weakness…_'


	7. 7 ENZO

_**Sorry for the delay – there will be a new chapter coming up each day for the next few days!**_

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Seven**

**ENZO**

This was the type of establishment people wanted but refused to admit wanting, and for that reason it was exiled to the fringes, in that neglected strip of land between the city and the suburban housing. There was an abandoned parking lot outside, with only a few truckers parked, sleeping between shifts, and there was one lonely car sitting beneath the dim street light outside the door.

'_Joey Blue's Blues and Bar,'_ said the door. A green neon sign buzzed over it, _'OPEN 24/7.'_

Enzo was sitting in the window booth next to the door. He cast his gaze outside, past the blinding glare of the neon sign, into the deep. The distant skyline of New Orleans was speckled with yellow lights hovering like lightning bugs in the benighted horizon.

With a casual stretch, he shifted in his seat, directing his eyes to the women at the bar. They did not seem to mind the dancing girls on the stage or the lascivious beat from the saxophone player that heightened the mood and drew all eyes to the lithe motions of the dancers. All eyes except Enzo's – Enzo watched the women at the bar with a studious air.

The women giggled between each other, a naïve and nervous laugh as they watched the show and gave flirtatious glances to the other men at the bar, one man in particular. And with his growing indifference at each glance, the women's flirtation only increased in intensity.

"Thierry," the bartender addressed the man. Thierry took his hat and readjusted it on his head, lifting his chin at the bartender in acknowledgment.

"Want another?" asked the bartender, and Thierry nodded.

"That'll be on us!" shouted one girl, reaching over a hand and tapping it firmly on the bar with her shot glass.

Thierry threw a ten dollar bill on the counter, and the bartender grabbed it while pouring a stream of vodka into Thierry's glass.

The girl groaned when she realized they had once again ignored her.

"What's a matter, darling?" Enzo said, sidling up next to the woman at the bar and slinging an arm on the counter nonchalantly as he gave a wide, disarming smile, "Are the boys not playing fair?"

The woman sucked in a breath at Enzo's sudden appearance. Looking over his smile, she arched a brow and leaned forward to place a gentle hand on Enzo's forearm.

"_Oo_, nice accent!" she remarked, with one last glance toward Thierry, hoping he might notice. Enzo tossed his eyes back, to see that the entry door had opened. In walked a tall, muscular man, dark skinned and well groomed, catching Thierry's notice immediately. With an exaggerated sigh, Thierry snatched his drink and downed it all in one swig. Placing down the glass with a firm thud, he left the bar and walked to a back room. The tall man followed him.

Enzo looked back at the girl in front of him; he could see her disappointment at Thierry's exit.

"Forget about him," Enzo said, leaning forward, "Nice hair, by the way. What is that – pink?"

He pointed to a thin streak of hair flowing around the girl's cheek.

"Uh-huh, you like it?" she said, "I just got it done!"

"Of course you did, darling," Enzo winked, "It suits you. Now, might I ask, what are your friends drinking?"

He leaned over the bar to look round the girl and at her friends, "Ladies? What can I get you?"

They blushed, "You don't have to do that!"

"Sure, I do," Enzo winked again, "I owe a drink to every pretty lady in this world – it's only good manners."

"Jaaaane," one girl crooned, with a playful push of the woman next to Enzo, "You've found yourself a proper gentleman!"

The woman rolled her eyes, twirling the pink strand in her hair around a finger.

"Chivalry is dead!" she remarked.

Enzo gave a vehement nod, "Indeed, Ms. Jane! Chivalry _is _dead, but, you know, so am I!"

He knocked his knuckles on the bar, and the bartender approached.

"Pick your poison, ladies!" Enzo said flashing a smile their way.

—

Thierry walked back into the bar to find half the dancers and all the women at the bar crowded around a handsome young man with a distinctly British accent.

Narrowing his eyes, Thierry saw that Jane was with the rest of them, half drunk, red in the face, with an arm slung round the Brit's shoulder.

"Think about my offer," a voice said, coming up from behind. Thierry glimpsed back with a stiff clench of his jaws.

"Look, Marcel," Thierry waved a hand, "the answer's no, not 'maybe,' not 'I'll think about it.' It's no."

He straightened his back, meeting eye-to-eye with Marcel, and they passed a moment in stern silence. It was broken when one dancer let out a snort and a cackle, slapping her knee as the rest of the Brit's admiring crowd laughed with her.

Marcel placed a hand on Thierry's shoulder, and Thierry glanced down at the hand with a restrained disgust.

"Think about it, Thierry," Marcel said, "Just think about it."

With that, Marcel lifted his hand and left the building. Thierry watched Marcel exit, but with another wave of laughter, his attention turned to the bar.

"You knew _Cary Grant_?!" one girl shrieked, "I don't believe you!"

Enzo gave a humble shrug, "What else can I tell you? I've lived a very…interesting life, to put it mildly."

All the women around him locked eyes on him, ogling as each syllable left his lips.

"_Well_," one woman urged, pulling the strap of her tank top over her shoulder, "what was he like?"

Thierry walked up to the bar silently, ordering another drink and watching on without a word as Enzo put on a show for his admiring audience. The bartender handed him a beer with a knowing glance as the women laughed.

With a bitter scowl, Thierry took a sip at his beer and wiped off the froth on his upper lip with his sleeve.

Before he could stop himself, he heard his voice call out.

"Jane," he said. But Enzo was still talking, and the women ignored him.

Thierry took another sip and then placed aside the glass and walked up behind Jane.

"Jane!" Thierry shouted. Everyone froze and looked at him.

Jane pulled away from Enzo and turned around, placing her hands on her hip.

"What?" she spat out and looked Thierry up and down with a snarl.

"I want to talk to you," Thierry said.

Jane threw up her hands, "Oh, so _now_ you want to talk to me? Fuck off!"

With that, she turned back around, showing her back to Thierry.

Thierry took a step forward, but as he approached, Enzo sidled in between the two and blocked Thierry from going any further.

Thierry ignored Enzo, his eyes still on Jane, "Jane, I _need _to talk to you. It's about Marcel."

Jane visibly reacted at this, crossing her arms, but she refused to turn back around.

"If you would please, sir," Enzo said politely, while a hand hovered over Thierry's shoulder, "There's no need to ruin the ladies' fun."

Thierry wrenched away, taking a step back, with the color rising to his face as he gazed viciously at Enzo.

"I wasn't talking to you," he hissed.

"And you're not talking to her, for as you can see, she isn't interested in talking," Enzo glanced back with a smile, "Aren't you, darling?"

"Nope!" Jane said without looking back.

"There you have it!" Enzo said, "You aren't talking to me, you aren't talking to her, so it would seem that you're talking to yourself! And that's a bit unhealthy, don't you think?"

Thierry frowned at Enzo, perplexed, but Enzo only smiled.

"Who the fuck are you?" Thierry finally said after a long pause.

"Call me Enzo," Enzo flourished a hand and bowed.

"Well, Enzo, who the fuck invited you here?" Thierry grabbed his drink from the bar and threw back a long gulp.

He took a breath and looked back at Enzo, "I've never seen you in Vamp Quarters before."

Enzo jerked a shoulder in response, "I'm just passing through."

Thierry shook his head slowly, putting the drink back on the bar and approaching Enzo until their faces were a few meager inches from each other.

"No one just passes through this bar – you only come here if you don't want to be seen," Thierry said in a hoarse whisper, "So tell me, what're you hiding from?"

Enzo stood his ground for a moment, but as Thierry's gaze sharpened, Enzo averted his eyes and stepped away, backing down and retreating to the bar. Jane slid up next to him with an accusing glance at Thierry.

"Oh, leave him alone, Thierry," a dancer hollered out, "You're hiding from _the king_ like all the rest of us."

"Yeah, back off, man," the bartender shouted as he poured Enzo another drink, "They're just having a few drinks."

But Thierry did not take his gaze away from Enzo.

"I want to talk to Jane," he said in a low, slow voice, "Jane, will you talk for a minute?"

Jane snuggled up to Enzo, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

"_No_," she snapped and nabbed Enzo's glass from his hand right before he took a sip.

"Yeah?" Thierry wagged his head in disbelief, "Well, have fun with Mr. Darcy here! I'm leaving."

He stormed off, and the door clattered shut behind him.

"_Byyyye!_" Jane waved after him with her middle finger.

Enzo chuckled and looked at all the women around him.

"Am I the only one that took that Mr. Darcy comment as a compliment?" he said.

—

As the night passed, the dancers trickled out and the sky began to lighten, brightening the skyline into a subdued purple blue. As the clock over the bar ticked on, Enzo glanced up his eyes.

_3:35 A.M._

When he gazed around the room, he realized it was only him and her and the bartender. A couple of Jane's friends had lingered on but were slumped over in a booth, snoring loudly. The stage was empty; the musicians were long since gone.

"You know, I just realized," Enzo said, interrupting Jane mid-sentence, "We're still talking, aren't we?"

Jane lifted a brow curiously, "Yeah?"

"Well, look!" Enzo beckoned at the room around them, "It's empty! You should head back before the sun comes back. You wouldn't want to burn that pretty hair of yours."

Enzo's fingers stroked through the silken pink locks.

"Oh, I'll just stay the night," Jane shrugged, "They have spare rooms out back anyways."

Enzo nodded, "Or you could come with me…"

Jane tilted her head.

"You know, Jane, I know you seem to have something going on with that chap from before – but I can't help but ask," Enzo said, leaning across the bar and peering intently into the young woman's eyes, "would you be interested in meeting a friend of mine? I can tell just by looking at you, he'd eat you up all in one sitting."

Jane smiled.

"Okay," she said.


	8. 8 ELIJAH

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Eight**

**ELIJAH**

"What do you mean, he's busy?" a vampire stood with his hands on his hips in a defiant poise, wavering not an inch as Diego and his lackeys came to wrangle the crowd.

It had become nearly a daily routine now. The sun rose, the gates opened, and the picketers flooded into the courtyard of the Mikaelson family. Today was a quiet day, compared to most, as each entryway was armed with both the Mikaelson's bodyguard and the bodyguards of the visiting officials. The sight of two entourages of toned, beefed vampires in black suits and ties had a way of discouraging freedom of speech. Yet still, there were those that managed to slip through the doors and root themselves on the pavement, demanding to see the King and when that failed, demanding to see the Acting King – Elijah.

"Read it and weep, boys!" Diego shouted, handing out fliers alongside his colleagues.

It was a long paper, grey with ink in large letters scrawled all across it.

"What is this shit?" one vampire cast his teeth, "_Supernatural summit?! _Please! Don't make me laugh!"

He crumpled it up and tossed it to the floor like a dirty dish towel.

"Who does he think he is, Woodrow Wilson? We'd have better luck at peace joining the UN!"

"Diego, c'mon!" another protestor hollered, "You can't be serious."

In a pleading gesture, Diego flew up his hands, spare fliers wrinkled up in his fists.

"What do you want me to say?" he sighed, "Orders are orders - Elijah is preparing for the upcoming summit. You can't expect him to give everyone a meeting. There's just not enough time in the day."

"So he _is _meeting with someone, then?" a vampire raised a finger.

With a vigorous wag of his head, Diego spread his arms and shoulders, stepping up onto the base of the stairs that led up to the second floor of the courtyard. He looked over the crowd and with a raise of his voice, tried to gain their attention as their mumbling and chattering grew.

"That's not what I said—" he started but before he could go on, a door creaked open on the second floor. It was the library – Elijah's study. All eyes watched on, and the crowd saw the bright-eyed, red-haired witch Genevieve come prancing down the stairs of the courtyard, rocking her hips as she went.

"Oh, don't tell me all y'all boys were waiting for me?" Genevieve chuckled and then looking to one scowling protester, she winked, "Sorry, hun, but I don't dabble with bloodsuckers."

The crowd did not part way for her as she approached them, but the bodyguard lingering at the gateway saw her come and pushed through.

"Out of the way!" they bellowed, and the crowd walked to the side, except for one, who stood staring at Genevieve defiantly. She marched up to him and tapped him on the cheek with the ends of her long-nailed fingers.

"Pardon, handsome!" she chirped and then sidled around him, walking down the aisle and out the exit.

The protesters looked between each other, and then they saw Diego standing there at the foot of the stairs.

"So he gives a witch a meeting but not his own kind?" one man shouted to Diego. Yet as the roar of the crowd blew up once again, a small group entered the courtyard – Thierry and a friend, holding a long bundle between them, wrapped all in damp, stained sheets.

They shoved their way through the chattering people, gaining a few stares as they dropped the bundle to the ground.

Thierry cupped his mouth and looked up to the second floor. He let out a shattering yell.

"Elijah!"

Everyone went silent, but the door to the library stayed shut.

"Elijah!" Thierry called again.

Nothing.

Then, letting out an airy grunt, Thierry' friend rolled up his sleeves, with the red of his rage burning his face.

"_E-li-jah!_" the man boomed.

The door opened. A woman walked out first. She had a lithe, Latin look to her as she strolled out onto the porch and looked over the crowd with a high arch of her brow.

"Who is that?" vampires murmured between each other.

"Francesca Correa," someone said, "Isn't she that drug lord from the human quarters?"

Soon after, Elijah followed after the woman. With a bare touch of her elbow, he whispered into her ear, and with a nod, she returned to the library, shutting the door behind her.

Elijah strode along the porch, casting down a dour, judging look at the rabble beneath him. He came to swaggering stop and leaned on the balustrade at the head of the stairs.

With a quiet look, he puckered his lips, catching eyes with Thierry and his friend, knowing they were the culprits.

"What is the meaning of this racket?" Elijah said in a cool voice, but it was firm and solid enough to reverberate throughout the length of the courtyard.

"Elijah!" Thierry's friend called out, throwing an accusatory finger, "I demand justice!"

Thierry bent down and rolled out the bundle, to reveal a young woman with a pink streak in her hair. She was as white and pale as the sheet she was wrapped in, and all around her chest and neck were scratch marks gouged into her flesh. Then there in her neck were deep bites, rips, with little left behind but the mutilated skin glowing with fresh, red blood.

"Look!" Thierry barked, holding back the tears in his eyes, "Look what they did to her!"

Diego stood aghast at the foot of the stairs, and as the crowd watched on in horror at the bloody spectacle, Elijah strolled silently down the stair until he came to the body and observed with solemn eyes.

"That's the fifth death in a matter of days," a protester remarked.

"It can't be a coincidence!" said another, walking out before the crowd and shouting over them, "There's a murderer at large, targeting vampires, targeting out friends, our loved ones!"

Elijah had stooped over the body and knelt down to observe the woman's torn neck. As he stood up, Diego walked up behind him.

"He's right," Diego said in a whisper over Elijah's shoulder, "There's definitely something going on here."

"Oh, so now you've decided it's worth looking into…after she's _dead_!" Thierry's friend yelled out, walking up to Elijah, but as soon as he approached, Diego stepped in between them.

Elijah lifted a hand.

"Diego – there is no need…" he said softly.

"Why haven't you bothered to look for the killer?" Thierry said, walking up to his friend and placing a hand on the young man's shoulder to calm him.

Elijah sighed and lifting up his hand, needed his brow with palpable irritation. Cracking his neck with a quick snap to the side, he stroked his chin and turned his narrowed gaze to Thierry and Thierry alone.

"Thierry, you of all people should know that it is out of mercy and mercy alone I let you stand here now alive," Elijah said.

The crowd calmed down once again and waited in silence for the Original's words.

"Knowing that, you cannot come here and make demands," Elijah went on, "The deaths are being investigated."

"Really, then why isn't there anyone out investigating? You're all here. Inside," Thierry's friend took another step toward Elijah, yanking from Thierry's calming hand. The young man's hands began to rave as his voice grew louder.

"Talking about peace!" he screamed, "When it's obvious to everybody else that we're on the verge of war!"

"Thierry, I advise you to calm your friend," Elijah said, looking again to Thierry and never deigning to acknowledge the raving young man mere feet from his face.

Thierry walked up to the young man, facing him squarely, and seized him by his shoulders.

"That's enough…" Thierry said, forcing the man back several feet.

"That's not enough…" The man shook his head and walked up beside the dead girl, collapsing to his knees and taking her bloody head in his hands, "She's my sister, my little sister, and she's dead! Can't you tell just by looking at her? She's been mauled up, torn in two! It was a werewolf that did this – or a beast! There's no way this could've been an accident."

Elijah finally let his eyes fall to the desperate man, wallowing on the ground.

"No one said it was an accident," Elijah marched across the length of the crowd, speaking to all of them now, "But no one said it was murder either. We are looking into it – and I can tell you no further."

He stopped in his march and cast a finger at the young man holding the body.

"As for you, sir," Elijah continued, "I advise you to watch yourself - you use strong words carelessly. We wouldn't want you to mislead the public eye. All the deaths up to this point were between two families, two vampire families. That's not a war, that's a feud. But now you show me this girl here–"

"Jane!" the man shouted, the color rising to his face.

"You show me your sister Jane, and now we know, perhaps, that it is not between two families. Where was she last night, do you know?" Elijah turned to Thierry.

"She was with me. Outside of town," Thierry explained, "She was just having a few drinks with some friends."

"Nothing unusual happened?"

"Nothing. She was no different than she was any other day!"

Elijah nodded and then snapped a finger in Diego's direction.

"Diego – get together a couple of men," Elijah said and then looked back to Thierry, "Where was she particularly? A bar?"

"Joey's Blues and Bar off of Route 66."

"Take your men there," Elijah commanded Diego. The vampire bowed his head slightly and then whiffed off commands to his subordinates, ready to go.

"Oh and Diego – come here a moment…" Elijah called after Diego just as he began to leave the courtyard.

"Sir?"

Elijah waved Diego over, and they ambled together to a less populated corner of the courtyard. They walked through a side door, into a cellar room, where Elijah whispered to Diego in a tone as quiet as death, so that no prying ears could hear.

"I need you to be cautious. Don't make anything obvious," said Elijah, "We are dealing with the supernatural here – by the bite marks a werewolf is a strong possibility, as the man suggested…or one of our own."

"A vampire?"

"It is quite possible."

Diego's face went blank with disbelief.

"But…" he stammered, "why?"

"I don't know, but that's what you're going to find out. Go – be careful. And don't let anyone know of our suspicions," Elijah ordered. They left the cellar room, closing the side door behind them, and as Elijah walked back into the courtyard he could see that the crowd was waiting for him. But others were waiting, too. On the second floor porch, the library door was once again opened, and there leaning on the balustrade was none other than Francesca Correa, the human drug lord, vying for Father Kieran's position.

She had a high arch to her brows and thin pucker of her lips that spoke to her failing patience. Elijah sighed again – it was true he had made her wait now for a good five minutes, but she would have to wait a little longer.

With a wave of his hand, he beckoned to her to return to the library. She nodded but then pointed to the golden Rolex on her wrist, signifying that her wait would not be for much longer. Elijah nodded back his understanding, and with that she retreated back into the library.

A sudden swiftness in his step, Elijah paced back to the crowd and approached Thierry and his friend.

"Thierry!" Elijah said enthusiastically, taking the man by his shoulders and shaking him warmly, "You have my condolences. I assure you, we _will _find the man responsible for this."

"The _wolf _responsible, you mean?" grumbled Thierry's friend while reverently rolling back the bundle over his sister's dead body.

"It is not your place to conjecture. Nor any of your places!" Elijah shouted to the crowd, "Diego is investigating and will bring the guilty to justice. Until that time – vigilantism will not be tolerated."

Elijah noticed a crumbled piece of paper on the ground. He strode over and picked it up, folding it out over his hand and straightening it with a few strokes of his fingers.

It was the flier announcing the peace summit. Lifting it up over his head, Elijah walked back and forth like a hungry lion watching over his pride, with a gnawing, growing ache to kill his young.

"There will be a summit between the races – and you will not disrupt that with petty feuds!" Elijah boomed with a sharpness straining the ends of his syllables, "You will not fight, you will not kill, and you _will not _disobey me."

All eyes were on him.

"There will be peace," he said, "or you will die…Now leave. If any of you are still out here when I come out from that room –"

He pointed to the library.

"You will answer for it!"

And so he twirled around and zipped up the stairs without another word or glance. The library door opened and shut, and he was gone.

The crowd began to disperse, but not without its fair share of grumbles.

"He's cozying up to drug lords, but God forbid you try to get a little justice on the streets, huh?" said one vampire.

"God can forbid what he wants," Thierry's friend hissed, "but that's not going to stop me from finding the man that killed my sister…"

Thierry gave an encouraging nod, helping his friend pick up the dead body.

"It won't stop me either," he said, "And you know what? I think I know someone who can help."


	9. 9 DAVINA

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Nine**

**Davina**

"_Aquilam volare doces!_" Monique laughed and with one tap of her pink-nailed finger, the bouquet of flowers, limp and dried, sprung back up to life, green and colorful with the verve of freshly cut tulips. A cool breeze blew in through the open window, and the curtains puffed up and waved like a flag in the wind. The sweet scent of flowers spread across the room, and all the girls smiled.

All but one.

Genevieve clapped her hands in praise, and all the other girls clapped, too.

All but one.

"Wonderful, Monique," said Genevieve, "You really have learned a great deal from the Ancestors."

Monique nodded confidently, "What can I say? Some of us take our people's faith more seriously than others…"

She cast a sly sneer to her left and then covered it over with a blush and a giggle. The other girls giggled with her – all but one. There, to Monique's left, stood the dour adolescent witch, Davina, with nothing to her name but the scowl carved deep into her face.

Genevieve meandered across the room, observing each of her pupils' vases and each bouquet inside. Daisies – still a little lilted, but they regained the bounce in their sunny petals. Bluebonnets – sagging, but firm in the roots once more. And then the roses – dead and leafless. She grazed her eyes briefly to the student standing behind them – Davina. Genevieve knotted up her lips, lifting her brows in a concerned glance, but Davina averted her eyes. And so Genevieve moved on and came back to Monique.

Resting both hands on Monique's vase, Genevieve turned the brass curves around to investigate each leaf and petal of the assorted mix of flowers. There!

She pulled out one stunted, dead sunflower, brown and sad.

"_Aquilam volare doces, _indeed!" Genevieve sniffed at the dead sunflower, "I do indeed teach a bird to fly – for you see, even eagles' mothers must teach their young to fly before they've grown their wings."

And with one deep sniff, the sunflower pulled in toward her nose with the strength of her breath and regained life – its petals spreading out in all their golden glory as if they had suddenly felt the heat of the sun.

"You see?" Genevieve smiled, and all her students gasped in wonder – all except Monique and Davina, who stayed standing with her eyes cast to the floor.

"Alright, girls," Genevieve said, "That's it for today – remember what you learned today, which includes you Monique. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning!"

"Thanks, Genny!" said one student.

"See you tomorrow!" said another, and they all filed out. Davina collected her books and began to place them in her backpack.

"Where are you going?" Genavive walked up to Davina.

"Umm…" Davina frowned with confusion, "Leaving?"

"Oh, I didn't dismiss you, hun," Genavive crossed her arms, "I dismissed the girls that _did _their assignment. You haven't."

"I _have_," Davina insisted, exasperation cracking her voice, "I _tried_, but I just _can't_. You can't expect to do something I _can't _do."

"Davina," Genavive tapped her foot on the floor, her pointed heels clanking on the tile floor, "Yes, you can. If you expect me to just stand around and let you loaf, you got me all wrong. Monique is a little bitch, I'll grant you that, but she has a point."

Davina's jaw dropped, "What are you saying?"

Genavive moved her hands to her hips and gave a stern look that every disciplinarian teacher seems to have mastered over the ages.

"I'm saying, you aren't leaving this room until –" Genavive plucked up a single dead rose from Davina's vase, "until you make this flower come back to life."

Davina took in a long breath, sipping it in like someone who had stumbled at an oasis in the midst of the desert, someone drinking it all in to save themselves from a near and sudden death. She stood there wobbling in place, but reaching out a hand and balancing on the table in front of her, she regained her composure. Then without another word, she continued to pack her books in her bag. As she zipped up the backpack, Genavive walked over and took her by the hand.

"You're _not _going!" Genavive scolded. But Davina wrenched away, slapping at Genavive's hand. The dead rose flung from Genavive's hand and fell to the floor.

"Yes, I am!" Davina snapped and slung her arm forward, throwing the vase of roses to ground. The porcelain shattered and all the flowers tumbled across the floor.

Slinging the backpack over her shoulder, Davina ran to the door and left the building.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted as the door closed behind her. Genavive waited there with her hands on her hips staring at the mess on the floor.

—

"The only reason I had any of my power was because of the Harvest – because I had everyone _else's _power! None of it was mine!" Davina shrieked with tears budding in her eyes, her fingers grappling at the edge of the dinner table till the tablecloth bunched up in her palms and all the condiments scooted across the table.

Josh reached his hands over and took Davina's. They stared into each other's eyes a moment with that psychic understanding of youth and its troubles. Davina calmed down, her breaths easing, and her muscles relaxing until her fingers slacked their grip. Smoothly rearranging the condiments back in place, Josh flashed a sympathetic smile.

"Davina, that's totes bull shit, and you know it," Josh said, and he saw her hide a smile under her hands.

"_Totes_," she chuckled, "who uses that?"

"I just did!"

"Josh," Davina wagged her head, "You're a nut."

Josh's phone beeped – a text message. The waiter walked up to the table and placed two entrees in front of them – two large salads billowing with fresh cut vegetables and drizzled in oil and feta.

"Everything alright?" the waiter glimpsed concernedly Davina's way.

Josh's attention was fixated on his phone as he typed a response, but when he noticed the waiter he returned his attention to his surroundings. He gave an energetic nod, "I think it will be, yes!"

"Let me know if you need anything else," the waiter smiled and left.

With his fork, Josh stabbed threw two humungous dark leaves, the largest on the plate, and stuffed them into every corner of his mouth. Davina's eyes widened with disbelief, but Josh raised a finger and with one more stab collected the biggest piece of celery on his plate.

Bending this way and that, it shimmied its way into his mouth until there was nothing but a mass of munched green stuffed in all his cheeks. He crunched loudly and sloppily until Davina smiled again.

Then, with one big gulp, Josh sighed with satisfaction.

"You see?" he said, "It's not the end of the world."

Davina's shoulders slumped down, "Not for you anyhow…"

"Oh pleaaaase, girl," Josh drawled, "How many witches can say they got three other people's powers all in one night? How many can say they kept people from dying, they showed more restraint than a monk on a rooftop going without food for half his life?! Because as far as I'm concerned, that's what you did."

Another beep – it was Josh's phone again.

Flashing her eyes to the phone a brief moment, Davina snorted dismissively, "Pff!"

"Don't you _pff _me!" Josh pointed his fork square between her eyes, "If you took the average joe off the street and made him the most powerful guy in the world, you know what he'd do? He'd go on a killing spree, or make himself dictator for life at the least. You know what you did? You locked yourself up in the attic and mastered the art of charcoal sketching!"

"Ha!" Davina gave a dry laugh, taking a lazy bite of her salad and eating it disinterestedly, "Not like I had much of a choice."

"Oh, yes, you did! Marcel didn't force you into anything. You were stronger than everybody, you could've done anything you felt like, but you didn't because you're a good person."

Davina swallowed her food and stuck out her tongue.

"I'm serious," Josh continued, "It takes more power to be able to restrain yourself than to actually just let it loose…one too many drunken binges waking up with strange men in my bed taught me that one!"

Josh gave a wise, sarcastic nod and nabbed another bite of his food.

Davina stood up from the table and started to leave, but Josh caught her arm as she went.

"I really am serious, though," Josh smiled, "seriously."

Davina pinched his cheek and mimicked, "Seriously!"

Then with a roll of her eyes, she said, "I know, and I appreciate it, but a girl's gotta go when a girl's gotta go."

She winked and then motioned toward the bathroom. Josh blushed and let her arm go.

—

Davina walked into the bathroom with a newly found perk in her step. As she walked over to the bathroom stall, she noticed a flower arrangement in front of the bathroom mirror where all the faucetless sinks were. They were real flowers – real roses, white and yellow, but drooping and brown at the edges. She looked away and entered the bathroom stall nearest the doorway.

—

"Thanks again!" Josh smiled to the waiter as he signed the check, handing the man a few dollars. The waiter thanked him and left. Josh's phone began to beep again; he picked it up out of his pocket and unlocked it.

_1 MESSAGE, FROM MARCEL, _it said. He laid the phone on the table and picked up his plate, then Davina's, and began to scrape the salads into to-go boxes.

"Leaving already?" a voice called out approaching from the walkway. Josh looked up and smiled when he saw Davina sit back in the booth across from him with her hands under the table.

Davina glanced down and perked a brow when she saw for a split second the name of Marcel on Josh's phone. The second passed and the phone's screen blackened.

"Well, I'm a fast eater," Josh chuckled, "And you weren't eating at all. So I boxed it!"

"Hey!" Davina frowned looking at the receipt on the table, "You can't do that!"

Josh knotted his brown in confusion.

"You paid for me!" Davina stuck out her tongue again, "It was _my _turn!"

Josh shook his head, "Nope!"

Davina tilted her head and gave Josh a playful scowl.

"Fine!" she grumbled, "This'll have to do to pay you back until next time!"

She lifted her hand over the table and flourished a bright yellow rose, plump and fresh, without a sag in its pedals.

Josh jolted in alarm, "For me, madame?"

He placed a hand over his heart, aghast and delighted, as he took the rose from Davina.

"Why, yes, monsieur!" Davina chuckled.

"Wooow," Josh twirled the rose through his fingers in admiration, "Where did you find it? It's like you pulled it out of thin air!"

Davina shrugged humbly, "It was something like that…"

"_Thank you_," Josh fumbled over the table and pecked Davina on the cheek, "if anything I owe _you _dinner! C'mon, let's go!"

They walked out of the restaurant arm in arm, laughing and chatting as they went.

—

As they reached the end of the lane, they ambled over toward the last townhouse on the street. It was short and cramped and red-bricked, but it had a homey feeling to it that immediately struck Josh with a smile whenever he saw it. Marching up the steps, Josh jumped up and planted his feet squarely on the welcome mat.

_Welcome! _it said, and that made Josh smile, too. Most things made him smile.

"Thanks for the pep talk," Davina said.

"Thanks for the flower," Josh took another whiff at the rose, "Now get along! Mother won't hear of me having suitors at my door! It's un-ladylike!"

Davina laugh aloud, grabbing her side.

"Wow, Josh, that's a new one," Davina said, catching her breath and wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, "but I have to ask…"

Josh looked at her, waiting.

Davina sucked her bottom lip.

"What?" Josh prompted her.

"I noticed…you got a lot of text messages when we were at dinner."

"Did I?"

"I noticed…" she paused and looked down, then with a little gain of courage she looked back up, "I noticed they were from Marcel."

Josh stopped breathing for a moment.

"Oh…" he said.

"That's all you have to say?"

"He's not that bad a guy…"

"He _used _me," Davina said, the intensity growing in her eyes, "You know he did."

"And he also befriended you, protected you – hell, he _killed _for you!" Josh threw up his hands, "How many people can say that? But c'mon, _I'm_ not using you, if that's what you're saying…"

Davina shook her head, "No."

"Well, then…"

"Well?"

"Well," Josh continued, "maybe you should give the guy that gave the girl the power to restrain herself from killing everyone a second chance…"


	10. 10 HAYLEY

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Ten**

**HAYLEY**

The truck wobbled when Jackson hopped into the backseat. Hayley glanced at the rearview mirror – and saw nothing but fur.

"Jackson, could you please, umm…" she bit her lip in thought, "duck?"

The wolf clambered over a pile of jackets that had accumulated in Hayley's backseat, perpetually "on the way to the dry cleaner's."

Hayley peaked back to see the wolf squashed between the cushions and the clothes, doing his best not to block the view. She balked, contorting her lips closed and trying not to laugh.

"Cramped much?" she teased and turned forward, starting the car with a flip of her wrist on the keys, "You know you can sit on floor if you can fit."

She glimpsed at the rearview mirror and could see from the bulge of Jackson's yellow eyes that her suggestion was happily declined.

"Suit yourself," she mumbled and drove out of the vampire compound. The further down they drove along the grey cement, the smaller the compound became – at first it loomed like a hovering shadow, familiar but menacing, and then it merely peaked up from the horizon as little more than a speck. Every time she made that drive, it was like she was shedding all the shackles of this new life thrust upon her.

Her breaths lightened as she could feel the weight lift from her shoulders. By now, she could not even see it – there wasn't the least sign of anything behind her. Then she looked forward at vast expanse before her – nothing but bayou.

"We're almost there…" she said softly, more to herself than anyone else.

—

The truck drove up to the shantytown, a myriad of trailers, RVs, and improvised lean-tos splattered haphazardly between walls of swampy reeds in the last thin strip of dry land for miles. As the dust receded away from the car, Hayley could see her witch doctor – with a variety of friends and relatives all carrying pots and pans of herby stews in preparation for the upcoming celebrations. A fire was roaring in the middle of the camp, and the bustling of the witches clustered around its glowing heat as dusk quickly approached.

Hayley gave a reluctant sigh as she left the car, holding the door for Jackson to jump out after her. The energy around the campfire bloomed with energy as the wolf pack pranced around in play stances. Hayley gazed at the camp and forced a smile when her witch doctor beckoned her over.

"You ready, girl?"

"Damn right, Shela!" Hayley said to the witch doctor Shela, who stood casting herbs into the fire that made the flames flare greedily.

"Do you have the cure?" said Shela, gesturing to her friends. Two old women, similar in shape and size to Shela, rolled over a large wheeled cauldron with a boiling stew.

"Who are all these people?" said Hayley, handing Shela a thermos filled with Celeste's cure for the Crescent Wolf Curse. As she did this, she glanced curiously at the women rolling the cauldron and then at all the others buzzing round, pulling up improvised wooden poles to form tents and placing out folding chairs.

"Oh, these're my baby sistahs!" Shela crowed, taking the thermos while slapping an old woman closest to her warmly on the back, "Hey babies! You meet Hayley?"

"We have now!" one old woman said with a wink to Hayley, "How you doin', honey?"

"I'm good – it's very nice to meet you!" Hayley stretched out a hand over the pot. She could feel the rising heat as each woman shook her hand.

"Don't you worry, sugar, you're in good hands with Shela!" said one woman, nudging an elbow into Shela's side, "I'm the crazy one of the family! She's the good one!"

"You can say that again!" Shela said with an exaggerated wag of her head.

"Ha ha," Hayley chuckled and then scanned over the crowd around her, "So are all these people your relatives?"

As she turned around to behold the growing preparations for what was doubtless going to be a night-long celebration, she had her back to the others as she heard gentle steps thud across the grass behind her.

"What, these boys my relatives?" Shela cackled, "Oh no, that's not on me! That's on him!"

"Who?" Hayley said, turning back around.

She gasped, leaping back a step and throwing up her hands in fists in a fighting stance. In an instant, she saw her hands in front of her, and her cheeks burned red. She hid them behind her back and then quickly fidgeting moved them back in front until they rested on her round belly.

"_Klaus_," she snipped and said nothing more.

Klaus stood staring at her with his head in a tilt and his eyes widely watching her, taking in her every movement as she embarrassed herself more and more. Instantly, she stared at the ground to shrug off the weight of his gaze, but she knew he was still looking. She began to lift her eyes – and then walked up a young man with short cropped blonde hair and a necklace hanging over his shirt with a ring on the bottom of the loop.

"It's nice to meet you, ma'am. I've heard a lot about you!" he said cheerfully thrusting out a hand, "I'm Cary."

Taken by surprise, Hayley immediately looked up at Cary's face and frowned at him confusedly. Cary bunched his lips when he saw her hesitation and let his hand dangle awkwardly in the air, waiting.

Klaus bent forward a little, "Come, love, don't be rude."

Hayley ignored him and without delay, reached out and shook Cary's hand.

"Sorry about that!" she said, "Hi, Cary, nice to meet you. I'm sorry, I'm all thumbs today."

"Don't worry about it," Cary said with a shrug, "I hear you need a little help with your family today?"

He walked over to the cauldron besides Shela and her sisters; Hayley walked with him, her gaze following Klaus as he began to amble away to the other end of the camp.

"So…" Hayley said, glancing briefly back to Cary as she planted her feet by his side, "when did you get here?"

"Oh just a couple hours ago," said Cary, tapping Shela on the shoulder and taking a spoon from her so he could mix the stew in the pot, "I came along with Shela."

"So when did, um –" Hayley started and stopped as she saw Klaus walk over to a group of wolves, kneeling down and stroking their necks as if they were his life-long pets.

Cary followed Hayley's gaze and smiled back at her.

"He came with. He coordinated it all. I'm sorry, it was all my doing," Cary explained as he mixed the stew, "I hope we're not imposing – I heard about your pack and I felt, I don't know, _compelled_ to help."

Hayley raised a brow at that word.

"So I thought I'd come out, and well, I mentioned it to Klaus," Cary went on merrily stirring, chatting away whether she heard him or not, "And that's when he said he thought it would go faster with more people here. The more hands, the quicker they all get the cure, right?"

"Right…" Hayley nodded offhandedly.

Shela walked up to the edge of the pot with her sisters in tow, all of them holding piles of bowls.

"Hey, honeys, c'mon now!" Shela chirped, nodding up at a sudden gust rushing through with the movement of the dark purple clouds over the night sky, "you see that wind? Those clouds'll be gone before long and you know what that means? The full moon will be out! So hop to it! Let's get that cure in them furry bellies!"

Shela stuck out a bowl in front of Cary, and scooping up a spoonful, Cary poured some of the mixture into a bowl. Hayley came up to Shela and took the bowls from her, and with that Shela left to attend to other things.

As Hayley stuck out another bowl, Cary locked eyes with her while pouring another scoop.

"Is she always like that?" he said.

Hayley nodded with a grin, "Yuuup!"

—

They had taken shifts: Cary, Hayley, and then one or the other of Shela's sisters – and then back to the start. Before long, Hayley found herself volunteering when the others took breaks until she realized Cary was gone and then, one of the sisters was gone, too.

They were near the end now, though. Shela's sister handed over one last bowl, and with one final dip, scoop, pour, pass – the last of the pack got their draught of the cure. It was only time to wait now for the moon to shine.

Hayley wiped her hands together with a feeling of accomplishment and looked around, hoping to find someone with commiserate over a long day's work. Jackson – he had a coat as grey as the rest of them and she doubt if she could ever find him lost amid the pack. She turned her gaze further still and then saw Cary at the opposite end of the camp, slinking between two trailer parks. She narrowed her eyes and noticed that Klaus was walking beside him – and in between the two of them was a wolf trotting beside their knees.

She took a step forward, ready to investigate, when she felt someone take her hand and squeeze. She looked over to see it was Shela's sister, gazing with mouth ajar at the clouds. With one last gust, they moved aside and all the wolves looked up at the moonlight. They tilted back their head and howled loudly; and as the moonbeams cast over them their long canine heads transformed and then their bodies and then in an instant, they were all human again.

A wave of relief billowed over the camp and smiles clung to all their faces as Klaus's workers immediately approached the Crescent Wolf members, handing out clothes and food as needed.

"It's a miracle!" exclaimed Shela's sister, releasing Hayley's hand. Hayley returned her hand to her stomach and pat at her belly with a hesitant frown on her nose.

"I'm not holding my breath," she said and when she saw the woman's surprise she explained.

"This doesn't mean anything," she said, "We still have to wait to see if they transform back once the moon sets."

"Well, then," said Shela's sister with a devilish twinkle in her eye, "until then – let's eat!"

Then, whether Hayley willed it or not, Shela's sister dragged her off toward a pavilion in the midst of the folded chairs where all the wolf pack had gathered. It was the middle of the night – and the party had just begun.

—

Eating and drinking – that's what made them merry and despite herself, Hayley was in the middle of it. She refused to dance, positively, until a burly old Crescent pulled her into a two-step and refused to let go until she did the chicken dance. She relented – she ducked and pecked and squawked – and then in shame slinked back into a corner of the tent to catch a breath, leaning on a table. A passerby handed her drink and with one sip she realized it was beer.

"Oh, snap!" she said, "Anyone got a ginger ale?"

Nothing.

Hayley sucked in a breath, a tad disgruntled and then approached a buffet table, roving around in search of some sort of a punch – that hadn't been spiked in way or another.

"Aha!" she said, seizing in hand a plain cup of soda, but by now she had wandered into the thick of a crowd. Everyone stood closely together, soaking in one another's body heat and talking loudly if only to be louder to the conversation next to them. She tried to sidle her way through the crowd, holding over her head that one teetotaler drink available to her.

"Look!" someone shouted from the crowd pointing outside, and as they all moved together to look outside the tent, she was able to make one last ditch effort to scoot to the edge of the crowd.

"The sun's up!" someone else shouted. Everyone cheered, throwing their hands in the air.

"Drinks all around!" yelled out a voice and everyone shouted gleefully once more, "Cheers!"

Hayley smiled, brandishing her little glass cup of Coke, ready to clink it, but the crowd had scooted her out. She turned to her right – no one, and then turning to her left, a glass reached out to hers.

_Clink!_

She looked up.

"Congratulations," said Klaus, in a subdued voice, blank-faced, "It makes me happy to see you get your family back…"

"You don't look happy…" Hayley whispered, licking her lips.

"You got your family back, love," Klaus said, "that means you got _her _family back."

He looked down to Hayley's stomach, and then leaning over, he pecked her on the cheek.

"Cheers!" he said, lifting his glass and taking a swig. She made no response and stood frozen until he walked away wordlessly.

She stayed there a moment, sipping at her drink, until she saw Jackson come up to her.

"Hey," she said weakly.

"It's great isn't it?" Jackson boomed, looking over all his friends with the excitement glinting in the balls of his eyes.

"Yeah," Hayley shrugged and stood in a quiet pause.

"Y'know, I'm sorry if he's being an ass," she said.

Jackson frowned at her.

"Klaus," she explained with another sip of her soda, "I noticed that he's been bothering you all evening. I know how he can be – he likes to hand out threats like Halloween candy sometimes."

Jackson raised a brow, "I can't speak to that. He's just been talking is all – me and him and his cousin, Cary."

"What do you mean?" Hayley frowned in disbelief.

Jackson shrugged, "I mean what I mean."

Hayley sighed, both with relief and weariness over the long night, "I gotta say – I'm surprised."

"Really?" Jackson tilted his head, "Why's that?"

Hayley stared blankly and said nothing. She realized, then, that for the first time in her life, she couldn't think of a bad thing to say about Klaus in that moment.


	11. 11 MARCEL

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Eleven**

**MARCEL**

"Copy?"

Marcel released his finger from the button on the side of the walkie-talkie and waited, stooped on his knees on the roof of an old building outside of the city. He was looking over an alleyway into the deep shadow where one dull light buzzed over a metallic door rusted red.

The angle was sheer and he could only hardly read the obscure graffiti etched across the door.

_INVITE ONLY, _it said.

Marcel's head peaked over the walling on the edge of the roof and peered deeper into the dark.

"Copy?" he spoke into the walkie-talkie again, standing up on his feet to peak further over the wall.

A high-pitched screech belted out suddenly as the door threw open. Out walked a man and a woman chattering softly between each other, and as Marcel watched over them he could see one begin to look up.

Like a gopher in a hole, Marcel shot down immediately, ducking behind the wall as he mouthed a curse.

"_Shit!_" he hissed under his breath bringing the walkie-talkie up to his mouth, "They're out already. Do you read me?"

Marcel's hand crept up the walling slowly until his fingers closed around a corner, pulling his head over the wall. He could see the tops of two heads tracking down the alley toward the street.

White noise crackled through the walkie-talkie and then came a voice, weakened under the popping of the static.

"I read you," it said, "I got my eye on the ball."

"You keep your eye on the ball," Marcel repeated.

"I _got _it," the voice said pointedly, followed by a pause as Marcel could see the two below stop short in their stride and whisper to each other.

The woman nodded and the man waved a hand, walking toward the street and signaling at the girl to wait. Marcel felt himself frown as the other man walked farther and farther into the street.

"Where's the ball going?" Marcel hissed, "Why's he letting him go? _Shit!_"

Marcel jumped onto his feet again, standing fully and cupping his hands over his eyes to peer over into the distant street.

The walkie-talkie squealed with static again.

"Get down, you idiot!" the voice barked through the speaker, "I can see you all the way from here!"

"What the fuck did you tell your girl?" Marcel was standing with one foot back, knees bent and ready to lunge up and down into the alleyway, "He's gone!"

"Stop your bi— wait!" the voice warned with a pregnant pause, silence brimming as two long shadows bent around the intersection of the street and the alleyway.

"I see him," the voice reported in a low whisper, "He's coming back. He's got someone with him."

Curiosity piqued, Marcel began to stoop over the walling to see, "Who is it?"

"_Get down!_"

Marcel dropped to the ground in an instant.

"Who is it?"

No answer.

"Fuck, Thierry!" Marcel snapped in a hoarse whisper, "Answer me!"

The white noise clicked through the speaker and then Thierry's voice stammered through in a slow, uncertain pace.

"I – I don't recognize him. He's got, uh, dark hair, black hair, um, average height. Dark eyes, maybe, I can't really tell. But he's in a leather jacket and jeans. Wait for it – you should be able to see him in a bit. Be careful."

Marcel sucked in a cool breath and just barely peaked over the edge.

"Yeah, I see them."

"Recognize anyone?"

Enzo was ambling down the alley with one arm straddled over the leather-jacketed shoulder of a black-haired young man, gaunt in the cheeks with hunger.

"No…" Marcel said, narrowing his eyes, "I don't know either of these clowns."

There was a strange stumbling in the young man's gait, held up feebly by his friend's lending hand as Enzo headed toward the end of the alleyway.

"They're coming up," Thierry spoke through the walkie-talkie, "I'm giving the signal."

Marcel shook his head, looking intently at the mystery man as the two approached the woman standing near the rusted door.

"Not yet," said Marcel.

They were only five or so yards away.

"I'm _giving _the signal," Thierry insisted, "I don't know what they're about to do."

"Just!" Marcel cracked his knuckles, the tension gripping his clenched jaw, "Just wait!"

Two yards.

"These guys are killers, Marcel!" Thierry's voice went shrill, "I can't risk it."

"Wait one more second. We might see something."

Two feet.

"That's what I'm afraid of…"

Enzo threw open his arms invitingly and the woman warily approached with a smile forced on her face. Damon smiled back, brandishing his fangs as his eyes went black and bloodshot.

"Shit!" Thierry cursed. Damon was on her already and blood began to spurt. Marcel could feel the arms on his hair spike up instantly as the woman tried to wrench away – but Enzo restrained her from behind.

Before Marcel could react he saw Thierry run in from behind a large gray garbage bin across from the rusted door wielding a blunt pipe. As Enzo struggled to restrain the floundering woman, Thierry came up from behind and laid a swift, hard swing on the back of Damon's head.

Damon fell down like a rock, and without a moment's delay, Thierry threw one, two, three firm swings onto Damon's head as he lay unconscious on the muddy alley dirt. At that, Enzo released the woman and darting forward, tackled Thierry to the ground – but not without the woman coming forward, one hand putting pressure on her bloody neck wound, one hand throwing punches.

Eyes bulging at the mayhem, Marcel leapt down gracefully to the alleyway and seized Enzo from behind with a grappling bear hug. Enzo drew out his fangs as he wriggled to break free, but Thierry came up and threw another swing of his pipe, knocking Enzo into a daze.

Blackness…

—

Enzo tore open his eyes to see himself back inside the backroom of the club he just exited with his poor, unwitting victim. Yet as he assessed his surroundings, he could see the girl washing away the blood from her neck – she was no victim; and as he saw Damon shackled with layers of chains, locked inside a cage, he realized they were the tricked, not the tricksters this time round.

Looking down at his own seat, his eyes widened, startled to see he was on a couch, unrestrained. Thierry and Marcel were standing over him, watching patiently.

Marcel lifted his chin, acknowledging Enzo. Enzo only blinked in response.

"Is this the guy?" Marcel stared at Enzo.

"Yeah, that's him," Thierry nodded, starting, too, "He was the last one I saw with her."

Enzo licked his lips and then cleared his throat.

"I apologize for any confusion," he said humbly, "but would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

Marcel snorted, "I was just about to ask you the exact same thing."

"Pardon?"

"Would _you _mind telling _me _what the hell your friend was doing?" Marcel said with a casual point toward Damon.

"Doing?" Enzo feigned a confused frown, "Nothing."

"Really?"

"And he's not my friend. I don't know him. I – uh – he was a mugger. He mugged me, us," Enzo said pleadingly with a glance toward the woman, hoping for some nod of agreement. But they all just stared him down.

"That's not what it looked like," the woman said with a cold snip to her voice.

"Well, you're a beaut, darling, I assure you," Enzo sneered, "but you are entirely mistaken."

The woman rolled her eyes and walked across the room until she was within arm's length of Enzo.

"About what?" she hissed, stooping over him like a cop in an interrogation room, "About him _not_ mugging me or about you _not_ being with him? Or maybe about that half crazed look that _wasn't_ on his face – you know that look? Hell, as if he wanted to feed on me or something…"

"_Feed _on you?!" Enzo threw up his hands, "What – I –"

Marcel strode over and took a seat next to Enzo on the couch, and Enzo squirreled uncomfortably into his seat, that much further from Marcel.

Marcel flashed a disarming smile and spoke casually, "Relax, uhhh-"

"Enzo."

"Relax, Enzo. We're not here to fight with you. We're here to fight with him," Marcel threw another point at Damon.

"Good luck with that," Enzo snorted, "For a mugger, he seemed awfully violent."

Thierry stepped forward, "Is he the one that killed Jane or are you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Jane. I saw you with her at the jazz bar the other night," Thierry explained, "Don't you remember?"

Enzo puckered out his bottom lip and jerked a shoulder in an unnaturally forced shrug, "…No."

"So you killed her then?" Thierry tilted his head, eyes pierced to Enzo's, "Her brother will be happy to know that. He already knows exactly how he's going to kill the culprit. It's a relief to know who the culprit finally is."

"I haven't done anything," Enzo averted his eyes, looking back to Marcel's disarming smile for some succor, "This is just some misunderstanding, so if you wouldn't mind –"

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is wrong with your friend over there," Marcel said sharply.

At that, a deep groan rumbled from across the room. All eyes turned toward Damon, who thrashed his limbs as much as his restraints would allow. His eyes were closed but his whole body was wan, deathly, and sweat drenched down the entirety of his body.

"What's his name?" Marcel asked.

"Damon," said Enzo, clenching his jaws with worry as he watched over Damon's troubled sleep.

"And what does Damon need?" Marcel said, "He needs something, obviously. He's sick."

"He needs medical attention," Enzo shot back, but a pause followed and he could feel Marcel peering.

"He needs…" Enzo hesitated, "food. Blood. Vampire blood."

"A vampire that feeds on other vampires?" Thierry spat out with disgust as he and the woman cast a horrified glance to the man inside the cage.

"I'll be honest with you, Enzo," Marcel said lowly, "I could use something like that."

"What?" Thierry snapped, but Marcel ignored him.

"How long have you two been in town?" Marcel said to Enzo.

"A couple weeks."

"I'll say that again," Marcel reached an arm across the back of the couch, his hand resting close to Enzo's shoulder, "how long have you been _in _town, _in _the city itself?"

"_In _it? Only once or twice," Enzo shrugged, "We can't risk it. If he's round too many all at once, he'll go on a frenzy."

"Against other vampires?"

"Yes."

Marcel stroked his chin in thought and then offered his question with narrowed, concentrating eyes, "How strong is he exactly?"

Enzo opened his mouth, not sure what to say.

"A hell of a lot stronger than I ever was, even at my hungriest," he ventured.

They all sat there, staring into space and slipping hidden glances of awe at Damon.

"I have an idea…" Marcel said, standing up from the couch, "You come with me."

"We can't –"

"This isn't a choice," Marcel barked, halting squarely in front of Enzo, towering over him with arms akimbo, "Tell me right now what choice do you have? That's right, none. But what choice do I have? I can kill him in his sleep right now. I can kill you, too. Why shouldn't I?"

"That's a good question," Enzo bit his lip with a self-conscious grin, "one I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to answer."

"I think we understand each other."

—

As they packed the truck, drawing the door down on the back compartment with the prisoners inside, Marcel revved the engine as his passengers strapped in their seats with a cold silence.

Thierry and the woman, Leah, refused to look at Marcel for the first thirty minutes as the truck drove down to their camp in the bayou. But he couldn't take it anymore.

"What the hell is going on, Marcel?" Thierry said, "I asked you to help me catch a killer."

"And that's what I did, isn't it?" Marcel said, eyes on the road, "I showed you where to go, who to talk to, and you found him."

"And now we're going to team up with him?" Thierry sneered, "What am I going to tell Mikey?"

Marcel glanced over to Thierry with venom.

"You're not going to tell him anything," he said, "_Are _you?"

Thierry clenched his jaw, "He wants Jane's killer dead."

"So do I," Marcel said, "but I want someone else dead, too. There is only one reason a killer could get away with something like this in _our _city: the men in charge let it come to this. I want the men that let this happen to die, too, so no one else's sister ever dies again."

"It isn't right…" Thierry mumbled.

"But it's going to work," said Marcel, and with that he looked back at the road, a devious smirk sneaking into the corner of his mouth.


	12. 12 DAVINA

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Davina**

Josh floated his fist in front of the side door of the barnyard – if that was the name for it. It was more of a vast rectangular shed, white and grey, like a metallic form of manufactured housing that someone somewhere forgot to paint. In any case, it fit the bill – large and indiscriminate, in as far as indiscriminate comes with regards to buildings in the middle of nowhere.

It was not quite the bayou but not quite the thickets of the forest. It was nestled comfortably in between, in a flat dell with high reaching trees scattered periodically every few feet. It was a feat in itself, probably, to root out the trees and make room for the shed, let alone the three pickups and the moving truck parked behind it (not at all indiscriminately).

Josh and Davina looked like sore thumbs amid the dilapidated grey surroundings, having exited their hot red mini cooper and standing with awkward frowns in front of the door.

"Should I knock?" Josh wondered aloud.

"Yeah," Davina nodded, "Why not?"

"I mean, would they even hear? It's like a side door or something, isn't it?"

But the door opened. And there stood Marcel with a tender smile on his soft face as he walked to Davina with open arms. Davina hesitated, not moving a muscle, until Marcel's approach elicited an uncomfortable smirk on her part. She forced open her arms and gave him a quick sideways hug.

"How you doin', sweetheart?" said Marcel, moving aside with a welcoming sweep of his arm to the door, "C'mon in."

Davina lingered where she was, until Josh stretched out an awkward wave.

"I'll go in!" he volunteered and strode inside first with Davina tailing behind him. As they entered the facility, their eyes widened.

Panels on the roof opened up to reveal the sky, letting in natural light onto a veritable militia camp. There were rows of wooden stockades, segmenting the building into portions, each storing weapons or blood bags or – people! luckily, living ones. Beneath a canopy to guard against the sun, there were stacks of slipshod bunk beds, or rather hammocks stored one atop the other, some occupied by vampires, others storing excess supplies.

"Welcome to my safe haven," Marcel stood proudly before his handiwork, raising his chin, "where anyone, vampire, witch, or anyone else can come when the city won't have 'em."

"Marcel…" Davina mumbled with disbelief, "what is this? This looks like –"

"An Al Qaeda camp?" Josh proffered with a raise of his brow, "'Cause that's my two cents, is all…"

"You got it all wrong," Marcel shook his head with a low chuckle.

"Marcel, there're guns!" Davina exclaimed gesturing over to a segment of the camp.

"No, no," Marcel said, "You gotta understand – this is bayou country. Most of the outlaws here aren't bad people, they just got on the wrong side of some folk up top, which ain't that hard to do nowadays. But they're still good ol' boys around here – just looking for a place to sleep when the sun's up, and of course, this is bayou country, so they _all _have guns. So we have them check them in, so they can't use them. They aren't _our _guns."

He pointed toward a guard at the front of the camp talking to some men who handed over some guns and signed in a check sheet posted on the side of a wall.

"You see?" Marcel pointed them out to his guests, "I mean, really, now! They aren't _ours_! We're vampires! What use are guns to us?"

"I thought you said this was just going to be a sit-down or something, to chat?" Davina cast a concerned glance to Josh.

Josh shrugged, "Hey, I'm thinking what you're thinking."

He looked straight to Marcel, "What the hell, Marcel?"

Marcel reached up a hand and kneaded his brow with an airy sigh.

"Let's start over," he said, "Let me take you somewhere else."

—

Josh and Davina sat down rigidly at an improvised mess hall – picnic tables placed haphazardly between wooden bars where women were cooking and serving up food to raggedy comers and goers.

They were seated at the end of a long table reaching from one end of the eatery to the other, occupied by clusters of vampires and witches chattering between each other.

"Better?" Marcel said with a smile to Davina. He stood next to the table, leaning over them loosely.

"Look, why don't I get you something?" he offered, "Want anything?"

"Tequila?" Josh grinned sheepishly.

"One tequila coming up!" Marcel raised a finger, "And for the lady?"

Davina shrugged but as Marcel stood waiting for her reply, she let her eyes wander. She noticed a man across the hall watching Marcel intently. Then he noticed her gaze and they locked eyes briefly.

Davina looked back to Marcel, "Water?"

"And one chicken pot pie with a side of water," Marcel said, "Let me go get that for you."

Marcel swaggered off toward a bar at the other end of the mess hall area where food was being served.

"Jesus Christ," Josh placed his hands on the table nudging shoulders with Davina, "he's gone rogue."

Davina caught sight of the man across the hall again – but he was closer now. He looked at her again.

"Davina?" Josh nudged her again, "Crazy, huh?"

She nodded, "Yeah. I don't know about this. But I guess, you know, look at all these people, right?"

Josh gazed around.

"Where would they be if there wasn't a haven like this?" Davina suggested, "It's better than nothing, I guess."

"Do you honestly believe him about that gun thing?"

Davina's fingers started to fidget along the lines of the wooden veneer on the picnic table. She stared a hole into those lines and said nothing.

"Wow, who's this?" Josh placed a hand on Davina's shoulder, rousing her from her daydream. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the man walking up to them both.

"Hello there," he said, slipping casually into the seat next to Davina, "I couldn't help but notice you. You're hard _not _to notice."

The man flashed a devilish smirk and his teeth glittered as he looked at her, but Davina turned her attention back to the veneer of the picnic table. She slid her fingers across the gently splintered grooves.

"Ooohoo!" Josh exclaimed, "We caught ourselves a wild one!"

"Ha!" the man chuckled and proffered a hand across Davina over to Josh, "I'm Enzo, a pleasure to meet you."

"_Ooohoo!_" Josh exclaimed again, with a lurid raise of his brows, "An accent, too! Divie, you're the perfect bait!"

Enzo leaned over the table, tilting his head low to catch a peak of Davina's face as she stared intently at the table. He offered his hand.

"Divie, is it?" he said.

She slowly took his hand, "Davina…"

"Davina – like divine, and oh, are you divine!" Enzo folded his other hand over hers and shook it warmly.

He closed his eyes dramatically, raising a finger and tapping it back and forth like a metronome.

"Do you hear that beautiful sound?" he said, "_Duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh!_"

Davina peaked at him curiously; he placed a hand over his heart.

"It's a heartbeat," he reached over a prodded her on the chest playfully, "You aren't like the rest of these…"

He scanned a disdainful eye around, "_People_…"

"Hey!" Josh stuck out his tongue, "I'm _these people_!"

Enzo threw up a conciliatory hand, "And so am I! But _she _isn't. Which means…you're a witch?"

"_Was _a witch," Davina cast a lazy glance back over to the table.

"One cannot _was _a witch," Enzo laughed, crossing his arms and leaning over the table to obstruct Davina's view of the table, "One _is _and _always _will be witch. No?"

Davina shrugged, "I guess…"

Then, without warning, Enzo placed a hand on her shoulder – gentle and warm, as though he had known her for all her life. She did not cringe from the touch but welcomed it by returning his concerned gaze.

"I'm sure whatever it is that's troubling you, Davina, will heal itself in time," he said in a low calming tone.

Davina gave a flurry of blinks, taken aback.

"Who _are_ you?" she said in surprise. At that, Enzo lifted his hand and looked over to Josh.

"I saw you talking to Marcel?" he said.

"Yeah," Josh nodded, "He a friend of yours?"

Enzo immediately contorted his face in a grimace.

"_God_, no," Enzo shook his head with vehemence, "I owe him a favor is all. Ah! Speak of the devil!"

"Hi, there," Marcel walked up bearing a tray full of food. He settled in on the table between Davina and Enzo and sidled his way forcible in between until they scooted over and gave him a seat.

"One tequila," Marcel handed a shot over to Josh, who downed it immediately, "One pie and water."

He handed over the tray to Davina and then took off a jelly sandwich, bulging with chocolate Nutella, "And one PB&J!"

Taking an enormous bite from his sandwich, Marcel spoke with a mouthful of food, squeezing his sandwich just a tad too much so that a gob of chocolate plopped onto the table.

"I see you met Enzo," Marcel said.

"Yeah," Josh nodded again, "You know him well?"

Marcel contorted his face and swallowed, "No, no. He just owes me a favor."

Enzo rolled his eyes, "So he keeps reminding me…"

He slid a hand over and took a napkin from Davina's plate. Then inking the end of his finger with the gob of chocolate on the table, he began to write numbers on the napkin with his chocolaty finger.

"But alas, not today, Marcel," Enzo said, standing up and leaving the table, "Not today."

With that, he walked away, passing Davina and stopping short. He leaned over and placed the napkin in her lap.

"Text me when you've found whatever it is you're looking for!" he said with a smile and then left.

"Who _is _he?" Davina asked to the air. Josh and Marcel collectively shrugged.

"He's just passing through," Marcel said and then changed the topic, "So how you liking the place so far?"

Josh raised a hand, "Oo! Me!"

Marcel looked at him.

"A lot less Al Qaeda, a lot more like summer fat camp gone terribly, terribly wrong in the Lord of the Flies way. Look!"

Josh brought up his shot glass next to his face – there was a painted scene of a beach with a pink shell on it.

"There's even a conch shell!"

Davina threw a hand to her face, but it broke through and for the first time in a long time she laughed until her ribs hurt.

"You know," she said, "I think it's beginning to grow on me."


	13. 13 CAMILLE

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**CAMILLE**

With a wobble to the left, Camille was able to bend just at that perfect, precarious angle on the top of the ladder. Her hand looped over the column and tied around the candlestick built into the wall – _voila! _

The banner, a light pastel pink, was hung over one end of the pews to the other with yellow ribbons twirling down in a cascade:

"_CONGRATULATIONS!_" it said on one side with a stork flying by, a smile across its beak.

"_BABY SHOWER!_" it said on the other side.

"How is it?" Camille yelled out below as she descended to the bottom of the ladder.

Hayley walked up with one arm folded over the other. With a purse of her lips, she shrugged.

"I wanted the _congratulations _on the other side…"

Camille popped open her eyes.

Hayley waved her hands apologetically, "I'm joking! I'm joking!"

Camille's shoulders slumped down as she gave a sigh of relief.

"Good," she said, talking a few steps back to take a wider view of the banner, "'Cause I was about to tear my hair out from their roots!"

She chafed her hands together, "Finished!"

Besides the banner, there were several brunch tables with pink tablecloths set up with varieties of snacks near the entrance of the church. Yellow ribbons were tied around the knobs at tops of the pews, and there were clusters of pink and purple gift wrapped presents collected below the platform for the altar.

"I don't know," Hayley hummed, "I mean, it's perfect! Thank you so much for doing this! But y'know, it's a bit late for a baby shower, don't you think?"

She nonchalantly wandered over toward the brunch table and picked up a carrot to munch on sloppily. Cammie followed after her and gazed over the food, floating her hand over each plate indecisively.

"Hayley, it's _your _baby shower!" she snatched up a stick of celery, "You can do what you want – besides, the people you wanted to invite weren't exactly human until a few days ago."

With a slow chew of the celery, she mulled over the scene before her for a moment.

"What?" Hayley said.

"I don't know," Cammie sighed, "I was just thinking – Kieran loves children. I wish he could see this. He'd love seeing the church like this."

"Why can't he?" Hayley suggested, swallowing down the last of the carrot and grabbing several more in her hand with a dip of ranch, "He looked fine this morning."

"I'd rather not risk it…"

"Well," Hayley shrugged, "what's the worst that could happen?"

—

There was a metallic rustling as Cammie unlocked the last of Kieran's restraints. He pushed himself up to a stand with slow deliberation, massaging his wrists, free of their cuffs.

Cammie rested a hand on his shoulder with a weak smile.

"Let's go and take a look, hm?" she lilted.

Hayley opened the door for them as Cammie helped Father Kieran carefully step down the stairway from the attic down to the main room of the church.

Kieran quivered at the bottom of the steps, squeezing his arms into himself until Cammie led him to a chair at the base of the altar, next to all the presents. Kieran reached up and pulled the white collar off his next as he examined the banners and the ribbons lightening the mood of the church with their pastel accents.

He glanced over to Cammie expressionless.

"It's beautiful…" he said, followed by a quick mumble, "No matter _whose _child it's for…"

Hayley sucked in a breath but with a confident rise of her head, she walked down to the head of the aisle in front of Cammie and her uncle.

"You know, Cammie did all this!" she said cheerily, "She's a real treasure!"

"It's my pleasure," Cammie said with a pat on Kieran's back, but he had withdrawn into himself, with a dazed look at his feet.

"Kieran?" Cammie cooed with a light stroke to back of Kieran's head. He started slightly but then loosened immediately when he saw Cammie's face.

"How much longer till the birth?" Kieran looked to Hayley.

"Any day now, is what Shela says," Hayley said.

Kieran nodded, "That's good, great. A child will be a blessing for him, I think. He seemed excited about it yesterday, even though he refused to say it."

"Who, Kieran?" Cammie gave a concerned frown.

Of his own accord, Kieran began to push up from his seat and took a wobbly stand. With a few cautious strides, he walked over to the pile of presents and placed his hand on a small box wrapped in a delicate gold wrapping, no larger than a book.

"Kieran, who are you talking about?" Cammie repeated, more firmly this time.

"Klaus," said the priest, "He came to visit yesterday – I asked him to come, don't worry. I called him."

"Why?" Cammie said.

Kieran popped the gift up next to his face and then, with hardly a waver in his step, came over to Hayley and offered it to her. She took it with muffled thanks.

"I needed him to pick up a gift for the shower," Kieran explained as Hayley examined the box, "seeing as I was a bit…tied up."

He gave a chuckle, and Cammie clenched her jaw at his black humor.

"I could have done that for you," she said.

"Oh, I'm tired of dragging you into all my business," he insisted and turned to Hayley with a waft of his hand, "Open it! I'd rather see you open it now than miss it on the day of the shower."

Hayley pressed her lips together as she ripped off the wrapping paper in a flurry of crinkles to reveal a clean black box. She opened it and gave a quiet gasp.

"It's beautiful!" she said, taking out a long beaded chain painted gold with an icon suspending on the bottom loop. Kieran took the icon between his fingers and brought it closer to Hayley, pointing to the carven image of an infant wrapped in swaddling cloths beneath the protective warmth of a she-wolf.

"It's for your daughter when she gets older. It will protect her. This is St. Ailbe – an Irish priest," Kieran explained, "He's the Patron Saint of Wolves. When he was born, he was the product of a secret union and so a baron was going to have him killed by abandonment. But when he was left in the woods, a wolf found him and raised him as her own.

"Legend has it, decades later when he was running a parish, he came upon a pack of hunters chasing a wolf. And the wolf ran right up to him and laid its head in his lap – the same wolf that fostered him as a boy. He kept her at the church the rest of his life – they kept each other safe."

Hayley took the icon from Kieran's hand and studied over it with an ever growing smile.

"That's a beautiful story, Father," she said, "Thank you so much. This means the world to me, really."

"I thought of the idea," Kieran said, "but it was Klaus that did all the legwork."

Cammy raised a brow and cast Hayley a knowing glance, but Hayley averted her eyes.

"So how'd the visit go yesterday?" Hayley tried to change the subject, looking straight at Kieran who was now within arm's length, "Is that all he wanted? I'm sure he wanted something in return…"

A dark shadow cast over Kieran's brow, and he lowered his head with a tension in his lips, pressed tightly together.

"Well, no…" he said, "it was just talk…he kept me in the loop. Apparently, there's going to be some sort of a _summit_."

He sharply emphasized the _t _looking back up with a visible scowl on his face.

"_Elijah _has called for a meeting of the all quarters' leadership – the vampires, the witches, and the humans," Kieran began to wring his hands together as beads of sweat budded across his brow, "and he took it upon himself to choose my successor…"

With that, he seized Hayley by the shoulders and shook her hard so that she dropped the necklace and its box unto the floor with a clash.

"_My _successor! He's handing this city over to the cartels! He didn't even have the decency to wait till I was in my grave!"

Cammy darted over and tried to wrench Kieran away but his grip was deathly solid. Glancing around, Cammy saw the tithing bowl – thick and silver – lying on the arm of a nearby pew. She ran over, snatched it, and sprinting back, hammered Kieran on the back of the head with the bowl. He staggered back, tripping and falling onto the pile of presents so that the stack tumbled down in a reverberating clatter.

Approaching with cautious steps, Cammy walked up to her uncle with her bowl brandished like a bat.

"Cammy?" Kieran gave a dazed groan, pulling himself out of the presents and nursing the back of his head with his hand, "What's wrong?"

"Uncle Kieran," Cammy said with a sigh, "I think it's time you go back upstairs…"

—

Placing a box back on top of the stack, Cammy put her hands on her hips with an accomplished lift of her chin.

"There!" she said. As Hayley came up from behind and laid the last of the gifts on the pile, the presents were as good as new.

"You know," Hayley said fidgeting with the gold beaded necklace around her neck – the one that Kieran gave her, "You should really think about getting help for Kieran."

With one look at her back, Hayley could see Cammy's whole body sag with a sigh.

"What good is it?" Cammy said, "No one can help."

"Maybe not…but the witches that did this to him have to be able to do something."

Cammy snorted, "And what am I supposed to do, stroll up to their headquarters and demand a cure?"

Hayley puckered out her bottom lip, "Maybe you can't do that…but I know someone who can."

Cammy arched a brow, "You mean Klaus?"

Hayley put out her hands suggestively.

Cammy shook her head, "I've asked before, and he said there was nothing he could do."

"Bull shit!" Hayley rolled her eyes and down the aisle back over to the buffet table, nabbing a carrot and biting its head off with a spunky glance to Cammy, "Look, Klaus doesn't respond to kindness – you can't ask something from him, you have to fight for it! He'll respect that and give you what you want."

"And what do I want?"

Hayley swallowed down the carrot with a disbelieving frown.

"What else?" she said, "To save your uncle!"

"I just…" Cammy walked up to the buffet with hesitation in her slow breaths, "I don't think I want to put myself in that kind of a position with a man like that…"

"He's not going to ask you to sleep with him if that's what you're afraid of."

"What?!" Cammy slammed her hand down on the buffet and the plates clattered loudly. She gave an apologetic glance at all the dishes and hovered a hand over them to prevent anything from falling.

Hayley threw her head back and laughed.

"I mean, he's got other things on his mind, y'know!" she hollered, "He's a busy man!"

Cammy put both her hands over her heart, "Hayley, I would never do that to you!"

Hayley perked her head curiously, "What?"

Then her eyes widened in realization and she threw her hands up, waving them frantically.

"Oh – no, no, no," she blurted out, "You go it all wrong. I don't care _who _he sleeps with – I'm just saying, it doesn't matter what he asks for in return, if he asks for anything. When it comes to things like family – he's a reasonable man."

Cammy took a step back, placing a hand on her hip.

"Wow. I did not expect you to say that," she said, gazing around the air for the words, "You seem to have…I don't know…you actually _don't _hate Klaus?"

"Well…" Hayley shrugged, "I never…_hated _him."

There was a pause.

She started, "I just…" She stopped.

"I don't know," she shrugged again, "He's just been really nice about the baby now that it's close to the due date. It changes your perspective on things, you know?"

"I hear you," Cammy gave an understanding nod, followed but a mischievous arch of her brow, "so does that mean he's coming to the baby shower?"

"No…no…" Hayley mumbled, "Klaus at a baby shower? _Please!_"

"How 'bout Elijah?"

"Ah! Elijah! That reminds me!" Hayley lit up and whirled around, spotting her purse stored in a nearby pew. She walked over and rummaged through the pockets until she pulled out a stack of bright pink cardstock with smiling storks on them.

"_Invites!_" she said, putting them near her face and looking for Cammy's approval, "What do you think? Aren't they the most hideous thing you've seen or what?"


	14. 14 DAMON

_**WARNING: GORE!**_

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**DAMON**

Damon woke to the three gnawing sensations at once. With a click of a knob, there was a loud screech followed by the jarring strumming of an acoustic guitar.

"_The Ring of Fire…The Ring of Fire…_" a baritone voice sung out through the radio.

Then as Damon felt his leaden eyelids begin to rouse, contemplating opening, he could hear the sound of jingling keys, stopped short by the sound of a lock turning, then a prison door creaking open and shut.

"Where am I?" Damon wondered aloud without opening his eyes.

"You're in hell, boy," said a voice.

There was a third sensation – he heard a moist puncture and then soon after a strong smell overwhelmed his nostrils, like pennies and metal with an acidic pinch to it.

He shot his eyes open, his stomach grumbling loudly.

_Blood_.

The guard was standing in front of him, offering forward an arm with the skin on the wrist bared right between the gloved hand and the pushed up sleeve. There was a thin slit in the skin and blood leaked out in claret bulges.

Damon lunged forward toward the wrist with his eyes blackened and the veins in his face darkening visibly to a bold violet. All the chains around him rattled, but as much as he pulled he could move no more than a few inches – just hairs away from the guard's wrist. Damon closed his eyes in concentration, tensing all his muscles and yanking in one heave at all the restraints. A few chains broke but the layers on top and the layers on top of those layers remained secure.

"Ha ha!" the guard sneered, pulling back his arm and rolling down his sleeve, "If you're so damn hungry, then why don't you just eat yourself?"

He took out a butterfly knife and flipped open the blade, stained on the end with dark crimson. With a step forward, he leaned over just out of Damon's reach and gave out hot breaths that moistened on Damon's face, which glistened with sweat.

"Tell me," said the guard, "which one of these fingers do you like least?"

Damon spat on the guard's face.

"_Fuck you_," he hissed.

The guard reached up and wiped the spit off his face, and then throwing down his hand, he stabbed his blade straight through the palm of Damon's right hand until it stuck into the arm of the chair.

Damon's whole face warped into a wad of wrinkles as he swallowed down his pain, resisting the urge to scream.

The guard yanked out the blade and brandished the bloody knife in front of Damon's nose.

"Smell that?" the guard snorted, collecting the snot in the back of his throat and spitting a viscous mucous onto Damon's face that oozed down in thick drips.

"Ain't you hungry, boy?" The guard seized a handful of Damon's black hair and tugged his head up so that Damon was forced to look him in the face.

"Ain't you hungry, cannibal?" he shouted and then drove the blade into the flesh just above Damon's collar bone, a near mortal wound to humans.

Damon coughed up a rich blood, near black, as he struggled to pull his head away from the guard's grip. He broke free but the guard reached out again, but the arm was stretched out across Damon's face next to his mouth. Damon caught sight of just a slight strip of skin on the wrist between the glove and the sleeve. He felt his fangs lower out and his lips draw back.

He took one bite, one sweet bite, and before he realized it the man's hand fell off into Damon's lap. The man screamed and screamed and screamed as he stared at his hand. He had run out of breath, his throat torn with the strength of the screams, and as he stumbled backward he began to hyperventilate, until he could hardly breathe.

Like a rag doll, the guard fainted and fell to the floor with a gentle _plop_.

Damon felt the guard's blood running through him, sparking a rush of adrenaline. He closed his eyes and concentrated again, pulling with all his might.

_Clink! Clank!_

An arm broke free!

He immediately snatched up the guard's severed hand and began to gnaw at it, slurping up the remaining blood greedily. He hung the hand over his lips and shook it, for any last drops, swallowing it all with a relieved sigh.

There was another rush of adrenaline as his stomach grumbled wildly, demanding more.

His free arm pulled at all his chains and one by one, broke them off. Then pushing off his chair, he strode forward but, as if intoxicated, stumbled weakly to the ground and fell onto his face. He lay there for a moment with his cheek pressed against the cold slab of the concrete floor. There was a jarring pain that stung through him, and as he cast a glance downward he realized the knife was still gouged into his neck. He yanked it out and licked the blood off the blade.

His stomach roared. He saw the guard, and in an army crawl, dragged himself over to the unconscious body.

As he rested next to the man's neck, he pulled away the man's shirt collar and patted the gentle skin with his fingers.

"You know," he smirked, "Now that I think about it, I _am _hungry."

—

The door broke open, and Damon tottered out of the entrance with confusion etched into his frowning face, drenched all around the mouth with fresh blood like a lion after feeding on its prey. His shirt and jacket were splattered with red and his hair was matted in disheveled spikes as he climbed up out of the bunker into the open world.

It took him a moment to process it – a bunker, he was in a bunker. Now, he was climbing up, he was standing outside. Yet in as much as his eyes could process it all, he still gazed around in a daze, looking at all the trees towering over him blocking the light of the sun. He could spy a clearing in a valley half a mile downhill – there was some sort of barn or shed surrounded by trucks.

He staggered in the opposite direction, deeper into the woods. He came to a strip of land with an opening in the canopy, a beam of light casting through the trees. As he walked forward he felt a gentle warmth and then in an instant, it felt as though the whole of his body had been tossed onto a pile of flames.

He glanced down at his hand – his daylight ring was gone!

He was panting and looking every which way in search of some cover. His feet plodded forward, up a sheer hill, but as he felt the searing heat of the sun, he began to sprint. The hill came to a sudden peak as he sprinted forward, and before he could stop, he tumbled off the cliff of the hill.

He felt himself fall, feet first, as his limbs floundered in the air for some solid ground. He hit the earth in a quick crash and his feet slipping, he landed on his back with his head dribbling against the rocky dirt.

There was a blue shadow cast over him, blocking him from the sun, and as he stayed on his back, letting his broken bones and punctured skin recover from the fall, he noticed a cavern dug into the side of the cliff face looming over him.

Regaining his breath, he pushed himself up to a wavering stand and lurched toward the cave. As he entered, he felt his whole body loosen as it came under cover of darkness. With a squint, he caught sight of a boulder perfect for sitting and tumbled over a few rocks in the darkness until he came up to the boulder and threw himself on it like a bed.

He sighed with satisfaction, but his stomach rumbled softly. He reached up and kneaded his eyelids with the palms of his hand.

"I _ate _already!" he shouted and his voice bounced all around the cave.

His stomach grumbled in response. And then everything went quiet in the black.

He adjusted his head this way and that until he settled into a nook in the boulder and closed his eyes.

For a moment, there was still.

"Sleeping in a lion's den? That's no way to last the night."

Startled, Damon shot up to a stand. He looked around but could see nothing in the dark.

"Who's there?" he shouted.

_Who's there? Who's there? _the voice echoed.

He could hear low breaths behind him, and he spun around.

"I recognize that voice!" he said to the darkness, "That accent!"

Silence. Low breaths. And then –

"Do you really?" said the voice, "Then you know who I am?"

Damon peered into the dark, approximating the source of the voice, though he could see nothing.

"What do you want?" said Damon.

Silence.

"_You_," said the voice, "you seem very hungry."

Damon could hear footsteps through the darkness as someone approached.

"I have an idea," the voice said, no more than an arm's length away, "I will give you some of my blood…and you will give me some of yours."

Damon heard a moist crunch and he saw a vague form reach in front of his face. He smelt the metallic pinch run through his nostrils, and before he could restrain himself he seized the form – it was a wrist – and he gulped down the blood in desperate swallows.

A moment passed and the arm pulled away from him. Damon tried to wrench the wrist back, but in the first moment since the virus infected him, he was overpowered. The form reached another hand forward and wrestled him into a headlock from behind. Damon thrashed to break free but to no avail.

Then a hand reached down and took Damon's own wrist – he felt a piercing bite.

"Damon!" came a familiar voice. He felt a sudden tugging, not from the bite, not from the mysterious form, but from something else.

"_Damon!_"

He woke up and jolted off the face of the boulder, eyes glancing all around. Nothing – nothing but Enzo and a pair of guards holding flashlights. They were all staring at him.

"Christ, Damon!" Enzo barked, "Where have you been?"

Damon frowned in disbelief, "Oh, nowhere really. I just took a stroll through the countryside after fucking Backwoods McGoo decided to _torture _me!"

Enzo swallowed down his sigh, wagging his head, "The guard, you mean?"

"_Yeah, _the fucking guard!" Damon screamed, throwing an accusatory finger at the guards behind Enzo, "Those fucking guards! Where the fuck are we? _You _said these guys were going to help us."

"They are!" Enzo insisted, "That man was just a damned fool! He had it coming to him! And so will anyone else who tries something like that again. Now will you come back with us – you can't be out here like this, you'll get killed without your ring."

Damon licked his lips with growing venom in his bloodshot eyes.

"About that ring…" Damon hissed, "Where'd you fucking put it?"

Enzo clasped his hands together pleadingly, "Could you please, _please _make one sentence without the word _fuck_ in it?"

"Where is my ring?!" Damon bellowed, his voice shaking through the cave.

Enzo reached into his pocket and pulled it out. Damon snatched it from Enzo's fingers and put it on his ring finger immediately.

"Hey," Enzo whispered, "that didn't have _fuck _in it."

Damon lifted his eyes and looked at Enzo, who was venturing a playful smirk. Damon could not help himself – the corner of his mouth twitched a little.

"Look," Enzo said, "You don't want to stay here anymore. So be it. Marcel can go cry in a corner for all I care. Let's stay somewhere else. But you have to understand – there _will _be rules. We can't just go tearing through New Orleans, eating everyone we see."

Damon smirked fully now.

"Why not?" he said.


	15. 15 KLAUS

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**KLAUS**

There was something at the core of his heart that made him recoil at the sight of other living things, and he preferred to spend hours at a time contemplating the stars or books or paintings. He had developed, then, the habit of waking up in the early hours before dawn so that he could slink out of his room without disturbance. The trick was in returning without anyone's notice, and for that he used primarily a combination of timing and subterfuge.

In every estate the Mikaelsons had occupied, there was at least one series of hidden doors that led out to the back exit of the building. Today, as Klaus crept through the narrow halls hidden between the walls, he came to a sudden pause.

His ears tingled as he heard footsteps echoing from around a distant corner. His back against a wall, he slid down to a crouch as two men walked past a nearby hallway carrying a gurney with a body on top of it covered over with a blanket. Before Klaus could move, two more came with another gurney, and now whether he liked it or not, Klaus tiptoed after them to see where these bodies would be taken.

His creeping stopped at the end of a hall that opened up to a small laboratory by the looks of it. There were five gurneys in a row, each with a body, each covered in a blanket. The helpers logged in their deliveries and then filed out of the room into another exit on the other end of the room. A man in a lab coat, a doctor presumably, was standing with a clipboard in his hand, his back facing Klaus.

The doctor muttered some indistinguishable words and flipped a paper over on the clipboard, dabbing something down with his pen. Then, from the far exit, a man came walking in, adjusting the checkered tie beneath his suit jacket.

Klaus rolled his eyes with a noiseless sigh.

"_Saturday…_" he whispered near silently, "_and he's still in a suit._"

Elijah came up to the doctor and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. Focused on the clipboard, the doctor jumped in place and then gave a relieved smile upon seeing Elijah.

"Anything, Dr. Collins?" said Elijah.

Dr. Collins nodded, "They all seem to have shared patterns in bite marks – they all definitely have the same killer."

"Any insights into who the killer might have been?" Elijah asked, "What species, that is?"

"Well, the bodies might have similar bites but there's varying degrees of violence," Dr. Collins cast a foul glance toward the furthest gurney, "The sheer force of the punctures and tears – the dismemberments – it's not something that could be perpetrated by a man, not without the use of tools. But by the scratches and the canine teeth marks especially, this was all done by hand…and teeth."

"And the bite marks – can you tell if they were vampire or werewolf?"

"Honestly?" Dr. Collins gave a telling glance, "I can't really tell. All the bites were so sloppy and all over the place – I couldn't find one clean bite anywhere. In terms of werewolf bites, you usually only come across them when they're in their wolf state, but there is an interim, where a werewolf in his dormant human form is roused with enough anger that he is able to summon forth part of his werewolf form. When he takes a bite in that interim state, the bite mark looks relatively equivalent to a vampire's. It really can only be clearly distinguished when you have a clean bite that hasn't been mauled over twenty times like with all these cadavers."

Elijah stroked his chin, "So you're saying –"

"I'm saying I have no idea," Dr. Collins tossed his clipboard onto a countertop and began to slip off his lab coat, "and I would not be comfortable stamping my name on one analysis over another at this stage. But if I had to make one, there aren't too many werewolves out there that can summon that much strength over their affliction. Given the odds, I would say this was a vampire's work."

"But the possibility is out there," suggested Elijah, ambling over to the gurneys and peaking under one cover with a grimace, "for a werewolf attack…"

Dr. Collins shrugged, "If you are that intent on it being a werewolf, I'd say you could make the argument, yes."

A vampire walked in from the far exit.

"Sir," he said, addressing Elijah, "Diego is here to see you."

"Thank you, tell him I'll be right with him," Elijah beckoned for the vampire to leave and turned to Dr. Collins after the other man left, "I have to thank you, doctor, for coming over on such short notice. I know you are a busy man."

"It's my pleasure," said Dr. Collins, "Besides, my colleagues didn't mind – they had some business in New Orleans anyways, which reminds me…"

He pulled out a cell phone from the pocket of his slacks, "Dr. Wes called me about an hour ago. I feel I may have to leave this for another time."

Elijah gave an understanding nod, "Of course, don't let me keep you. If I have any other concerns, I will make sure to contact you."

"Of course," Dr. Collins stretched out a hand and they gave a quick handshake before the doctor left the room.

Elijah lingered in the lab, his eyes grazing over his surroundings, then toward the distant hallway where Klaus was hiding. Klaus slipped down further into a crouch, ducking behind a column. He waited for a moment and then when he peaked around the corner, his brother was gone.

Klaus carefully stood up and with silent steps walked over toward the closest gurney. His hand hovered over the top of the cover, and with one sweep, he pulled it off.

A strong stench of death and rotting wafted up into his face, and he instantly recoiled at the sight before him. It was a grisly mass of mutilated flesh, pink and red, like raw meat beaten into shreds in preparation for a sausage. He could hardly tell, but from the outline of the skull, it must have been the remains of a head he was looking at.

Then his ears tingled again, from the low echo of his brother's voice and another man's. He covered over the body again and stalked over to the far exit. Walking down a hallway, he followed the voice until he came to a door. He put his ear against it and wrapped his hand round the doorknob one finger at a time.

As he listened to the muffled voices discussing business in a hush, he gradually turned the knob until, with a soft click, he opened the door in an infinitesimal crack.

"So you've decided to grace us with your presence today, brother?" said Elijah.

Klaus sighed and opened the door fully, walking into the room; it was the side room that through the far door led into the courtyard of the vampire headquarters.

As he strode in the room to see Elijah and Diego standing side by side, he came to a halt and lay his hands on his hips with a smug raise of his brow.

"Among other things…" he said.

"How long have you been standing there?" said Diego with a scowl.

"Quite a while," Klaus gave a massive shrug, "I'm surprised you didn't hear me earlier, but you were so enthralled with your little coconspirator here. Alas, though, it seems neither of you have been much of a help to each other."

"Move along," Diego snapped pointing toward the far door, "This doesn't concern you."

"Actually, it concerns me entirely," Klaus folded his hands in front of his face, his fingers dancing across each other, "I am, after all, the King."

"You've decided to shed all the duties of power but keep the title?" Elijah sucked in a breath, "You can't have it both ways, Klaus."

Klaus tilted his head at his brother and then looked over at Diego, "So you have a murderer at large?"

"We cannot say for sure…" Elijah mumbled.

"Five dead bodies ripped to pieces and you cannot say for sure," Klaus walked up to his brother and placed a hand on Elijah's shoulder, "Come, brother, don't be reluctant. Admission is the first step towards recovery – the public will be more than understanding, I am sure, that the murders began under your watch…"

Elijah looked down at Klaus's hand and shrugged it off his shoulder, "If you have a point, brother, I advise you come to it now."

Klaus raised a hand toward Diego, "Diego here has at least some leads, no? Don't tell me, Diego!"

Klaus placed a hand on his heart in feigned concern, "Truly? Your little stint at Joey's Blues and Bar came to naught?"

Diego looked over to Elijah, "Like I said, sir, no one said anything, not even the bartender. I don't know why – they said hardly a word when they saw me, as if they didn't want to help."

"As if someone told them _not _to," Klaus suggested, "They know who it is you're looking for…"

A phone began to vibrate. Diego pulled out his cell phone and flashed an apologetic look at Elijah, but Elijah merely nodded diplomatically.

"Sorry, sir, I have to take this," he said leaving through the far door and entering the courtyard as he left with one last remark, "I'll be back."

As the door closed, Elijah strode up to Klaus quickly, inches away, bringing a finger up to Klaus's face.

"This was one lead, Klaus, for one murder," Elijah whispered hoarsely, "If it came to nothing, it could mean they were told to say nothing – or it could mean there was nothing to say. We have to look at the bigger picture. All the other deaths occurred outside of vampire territory."

"Which means?" Klaus bent his head forward, peering straight into Elijah's eyes. Elijah backed down, stepping away and pacing around the room with a thoughtful poutiness to his face.

"Which means there is a lot more to this than one afternoon's eavesdropping could possibly imagine!" Elijah said, "I will explore every option before I proceed with accusations. Everyone is a suspect at this point in the investigation."

"To include the werewolves?" Klaus raised a brow at which Elijah squinted his eyes suspiciously, "Ah! You didn't think I heard that part, did you? But I can tell you now, Elijah, there is not one plan hatched in this house that I do not know of. Think of that before you do anything foolish."

Elijah folded his arms with a sigh, "Are you coming to the summit, then, seeing as you are so…well-informed?"

Klaus lowered his eyes and then shook his head. He walked over to the far door, passing his brother without a glance and leaving the room for the courtyard.

Elijah trailed after him, to see Diego standing there with the phone to his ear. Elijah nodded at him in acknowledgment and closed the door behind him as he entered the courtyard. By the time he looked back up, his brother was already at the top of the stairs leading toward Klaus's bedroom.

"How much longer is this going to last, Klaus?" Elijah shouted after him, "You cannot run from your duties forever! Rebekah is gone – there is no changing that!"

Klaus froze, the muscles in his back tensing. He turned around swiftly and marched over to the balustrade looking down directly at Elijah.

"You're right. She's gone. And you know?" He yelled out, with a wide wave of his hand, "I'm glad. Because if she stayed, I would have killed her."

Diego pulled the phone down from his ear, reaching out and tapping Elijah on the shoulder, but Elijah's attention was absorbed in the murderous glint in his brother's smoldering gaze.

"Elijah," Diego said, "We may have something with the werew-…"

He stopped short suddenly, casting a glance toward a woman entering the gateway of the courtyard.

Elijah glanced over to Diego, "With what?"

"Hey, Elijah!" the woman blurted out with an excited wave of her hand.

"Hayley," Elijah glanced over, "what are you doing here?"

"What?" Hayley cocked her head to the side, "I live here, don't I?"

"I thought you were with your…" Elijah stalled hesitantly, "_friends_."

Hayley pulled the straps of her purse further up her shoulder with a curious pucker of her bottom lip.

"My family, you mean?" she said, "Yeah – actually, no."

A hand reached into her purse and she pulled out a card, handing over to Elijah. He did not take it but glimpsed down at it curiously before looking back at Hayley.

"Here, I'm having a party tonight," she said, pushing the card into Elijah's reluctant grasp, "and yeah, my familywill be there but so will Cammy and some other people. It's a baby shower. I thought you'd might want to come."

Elijah looked over the card more fully this time before handing it back.

"Hayley, I appreciate the offer, but this is on very short notice," he explained, "I'm afraid I won't have time. I have a number of meetings I need to attend in preparation for some business."

"Oh!" Hayley nodded, taking back the card and putting it in her purse, "you're talking about that, what was it, that summit thing?"

"He is!" Klaus shouted down. Hayley started, whirling around to see Klaus at the top of the steps. He walked down with exaggerated strides until he came up next to Hayley with half a mile on his face.

"The summit that the Crescent Wolves have yet to be invited to…" he said.

"Klaus—" Elijah snapped.

Hayley frowned, looking over to Elijah, "What, is he serious?"

Elijah waved his hand dismissively, "This is just an inner city meeting, there's no need to drag everyone into it."

"The Crescent Wolves would be ruling the whole city," Klaus said, "if they weren't forced out—"

"After slaughtering vampires, left and right," Diego spat out with an aggressive step forward, "The wolves were cast out for a reason. No disrespect, ma'am."

Diego blushed as he glimpsed over to Hayley, a frown wrought on her brows.

Klaus shrugged, "I see that I've picked at an old wound. Let's not press it, then."

He turned his gaze over to Hayley, "Hayley, love, you are having a party?"

Hayley hesitated.

Then with a single, curt nod, she gruffly said, "Yeah. Just a little get-together. A baby shower."

"I see," Klaus said, gesturing toward his brother, "Well, it seems that your beau will be unable to attend, so if you'll have me…"

He gave a little bow of his head.

"Um…" Hayley looked down at Klaus's bowing head with an uncertain flash in her eye, as she glanced between Klaus and Elijah. She saw that Elijah made no reaction.

"Sure," she looked back at Klaus, and he raised his head, "I'm actually headed over there now, so…"

"I have nothing to do…" Klaus said, "I'll come along."

"Okay…let's go," she said, walking toward the gate with one last glance at Elijah, "Um, good luck with your business, Elijah."

Elijah shouted out after Klaus and Hayley began to leave.

"I do apologize –" he started but was cut off with a quick flap of Hayley's hand

"Don't worry about it," she said and then left.

—

They drove together in silence. Hayley cast sidelong glances at Klaus, who sat in absolute still, moving not a muscle, his elbow resting on the side of the car door and his hand wrapped around the handlebar built over the window. He was staring out the window, saying nothing, hardly breathing at all from what Hayley could see.

"Is it true about the summit?" she said. He did not move his gaze but after a pause, replied.

"Is what true?" he said.

"Should the Crescent Wolves go?" Hayley asked, "I didn't think anything of it, but now that you mention it…"

"The meeting will only be as important as the people in it," said Klaus, "And none of the people in it that matter aren't already on my speed dial…"

"But they aren't on mine," Hayley mumbled, looking back at the road, and then she saw in her peripherals – he gazed over at her with a blank face.

She looked over at him with a self-conscious smile, "What?"

"Nothing," he looked back out the window, "It's just you sounded like a politician for a moment there."

"Isn't that what being in charge is about?" Hayley said.

"Yes, I'd say it is," Klaus gave a nod.

"So then the Crescent Wolves _should _go," Hayley concluded, "I'll go."

"I'm sure Elijah would be happy to have you."

There was a pregnant pause.

"You aren't going?" asked Hayley, and Klaus pursed his lips with a slight shake of his head.

"Oh, no, love," he said, "I have far better things to do than bow my head to my brother in some charade of peace and unity."

"You two sound like you're in a funk. To put it mildly," Hayley sighed and then grumbled with a roll of her eyes, "Not like you won't be thick as thieves again given a few more days."

Klaus looked over at her with a squint in his eyes, and Hayley flashed an apologetic smile.

"Look, I'm sorry about your sister," she said, "I know you two were close."

He looked away immediately, his eyelids sagging tenderly.

"I'll…" Hayley drawled, "…shut up now."

But before the silence could overcome them, Klaus spoke out of nowhere.

"Have you thought of a name?" he said, "For the child…"

Hayley's eyes bulged in surprise, but as she saw him looking at her intently, she gave a shrug.

"I was thinking…" she hesitated, "Esther? That was your mother's name, wasn't it?"

There was a pause.

"…Yes, it was," said Klaus.

"Esther Andrea," Hayley said a little louder, gaining confidence, "Andrea was the name my birth parents gave me. Is that alright? Naming her after your mother? I just always loved the name Esther, but if it brings back too many memories or something…"

Klaus shook his head, "No…no, it's quite alright."

There was another pause.

"Esther Andrea Mikaelson," he announced with a thoughtful gaze to the sky.

"Marshall," Hayley added.

"What?"

"Esther Andrea _Marshall_-Mikaelson," she said.

"Four names?" Klaus raised a brow, and then with the slightest of smiles, he said, "I like it."

Hayley nodded, "So do I."

The car came to a stop in front of the church. She shifted the gear into park.

"Alright," said Hayley, "we're here."


	16. 16 ENZO

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**ENZO**

_Davina #225-781-5892. I've found what I'm looking for!_

Ten minutes.

_ENZO #434-801-0075. Oh?_

_Davina #225-781-5892. Yeah! My pen! I've been looking for it all day!_

Five minutes.

_ENZO #434-801-0075. That's a relief! Do much writing?_

Two minutes.

_Davina #225-781-5892. Nope. But apparently you need it for casting spells…?_

One minute.

_ENZO #434-801-0075. Ha! I wish! Then I'd be casting hexes left and right all day!_

_Davina #225-781-5892. My teacher is bat shit crazy. Wants me to take notes on EVERYTHING!_

Ten minutes. Nothing.

_Davina #225-781-5892. Actually! My class is almost over. You busy?_

Three minutes.

_ENZO #434-801-0075. Nope. Where R U?_

—

He rapped his knuckles against the glass window that stretched all across the façade of the antique shop. As they packed their bags, all the students glanced over, but he only looked at one.

He smiled and twirled his fingers in the air in a wave. Davina pinched her lips together in an embarrassed smirk, the pink burning her little apple cheeks. The red-headed teacher at the head of the classroom cast a sidelong glance, narrowing her eyes warily, but he already walked away to the entry of the shop, beyond everyone's view.

The door opened as the students filed out, looking him up and down, but he ignored their intrusive gazes.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Davina sung out as she walked through the door with a huge smile on her face, still glowing her blushing.

Enzo reached out an arm and wrapped it around Davina's shoulder as they started to walk down the sidewalk together.

"How are you, darling?" said Enzo in a lilt.

"Great!" said Davina, "I'm doing a lot better in my classes now."

"Wonderful news!" Enzo said with a raise of his finger. He glanced over his shoulder at the tingle of a bell and saw the door to the antique shop open and close as the teacher left the building, watching him with a suspicious squint.

He looked back down at Davina, walking with a skip in her step.

"Do you mind if we make a quick pit stop at my place?" he said, "I need to get my dancing shoes."

Davina laughed, "You have _dancing _shoes?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

Davina hacked out another laugh, "_No!_"

"I guess it's a British thing then…" he mumbled to himself and Davina slapped her forehead with amusement.

—

Enzo stopped in front of an apartment complex near the foot of the stairs leading up to a cream yellow door with a brass number etched into it— _34B._

"Here we are!" said Enzo, pulling out a jingling key chain from his jean jacket, "It might take a little while – I haven't exactly unpacked. But you can wait here if you like."

Davina brushed her fingers through her hair kicking at the floor with the end of her pointed boot.

"Oh, I don't mind a mess," she said with a slant of her head, "I've got four piles of dirty laundry all over my room."

"Tsk, tsk!" Enzo clucked, "Seems like you need yourself a maid."

"A butler more like!" Davina added, watching Enzo as he stepped up the stairs. He beckoned over to her.

"Well, then, come along," he said, unlocking the door and opening it, "if you don't mind the boxes."

"Mmkay!" she chirped, hopping up the steps into the apartment following Enzo inside, but before she could enter, the door opened wider and Marcel was standing right in front of her in the threshold. He had is arm around another woman who was daubing at her neck with a handkerchief stained with a liquid red, maybe lipstick.

"Hi, there, Davina!" Marcel grinned, walking through the door so that Davina stepped aside to make way for the two departing visitors.

"Marcel?" Davina took a step into the apartment, glancing back at the woman next to Marcel curiously, "What're you doing here?"

"Oh, just passing through," Marcel said, stepping down the stairs, "We were just leaving actually. It's nice seeing you."

He waved good-bye and walked away.

"Right…" Davina mumbled, "Bye."

She closed the door behind her and turned around to see a cramped living room with a hardwood floor and an open kitchen at the opposite end with a gloriously hideous orange floral tiling.

There were stacks of cardboard boxes along the dark blue wall where Enzo was roving around, ducking his head to peer into each box like a rooster pecking in search of feed.

"What was that?" Davina said, lingering at the doorway.

"Hmm?" Enzo glanced up as his hands rummaged through a box.

"What was Marcel doing here?"

"Oh," Enzo muttered, taking up a little shoe box and peaking inside, only to give a pout of his lips when he saw that it was empty, "He just had some business with my roommate, is all."

"Your roommate?" Davina scratched at her head.

"Yes – Damon. He's here actually," Enzo looked up at the hallway behind the kitchen and with a bob of his head, noticed that the door at the end of the hall was open a crack, "He's around somewhere, that is. I don't see him much. He's a bit of a recluse."

"Do you still owe him that favor?" said Davina.

"What?"

"Marcel."

"_Oh!_" Enzo moved over to the next box and took out another shoe box inside, "Yes, but it seems to have worked itself out. Aha!"

He opened the box and there inside was a pair of black dress shoes, shimmering fresh with shoeshine.

"There they are!" he exclaimed, taking a seat on top of a stack of boxes and kicking off one of his shoes, "Let's get these bad boys on and head out."

"Actually," Davina bit her lip, "I was wondering if I could use your bathroom?"

"Of course! It's just over there," Enzo pointed at the hallway besides the kitchen, "the last door on the right."

"Thanks."

As Davina came to the end of the hall, she noticed that there was a door leading to a room besides the bathroom. It was open a sliver, and as she leaned to the right, she could see a bed cast over in a dark blue, the most muted of lights glowing through the drawn curtains. Then, as she leaned forward a little, she saw the sudden movement of a black silhouette. She jumped back and opened the bathroom door, rushing in and closing it behind her.

With a flip of a switch, the bathroom lit up in a fluorescent white, the light bulb buzzing over the vanity and sink. The walls were white; the counter was white, too. She went to the toilet and after she was finished, she came to the counter and noticed how white the sink was, also, except for the outline of a few dried up water stains. They were pink. Then, as her eyes squinted and she bent closer, she realized the stains were not pink but red, like blood. She washed her hands and the water rinsed the red away.

She opened the bathroom door and let out a sudden squeak, a restrained scream almost.

A man was standing in the doorway, his hand out as if he was about to turn the knob. When he saw Davina, he pulled the hand back and rested it on his hip, rocking his body to the side and leaning on the archway of the door with a wry smirk on his face.

"Well, lookie, here!" he said, flittering his long dark eyelashes.

"Uh…" Davina stammered, "Hi."

"Ain't you a little mouse?" he smiled, with huge white teeth, the ends of which had the faintest hint of red on them, "I didn't even hear you inside there."

"Um, yeah," Davina fiddled with the ends of her hair as she scratched the side of her leg with her left boot, "I'm guessing…so you must be Damon?"

Damon tossed up a hand, "The one and only! You're Enzo's friend, right?"

"Um…" Davina felt his piercing blue gaze and cast down her eyes to the floor, only to see his lithe toned body outlined by his tight-fitting jeans.

"The witch? Davina?" he added.

"Yeah…" Davina mumbled. No one said anything for a moment, and Davina glanced back up into his bright eyes as he raised one black brow high on his head.

"Am I making you nervous?" said Damon.

"What?" Davina frowned, "Why?"

"You look nervous."

"Well," Davina gestured in front of her, at the blocked doorway, "you're kind of in my way."

"_Tuh!_" Damon clicked his tongue, wagging his head, "How very rude of me!"

He turned sideways and gave a wide sweep of his hand.

"There you are," he said, "Why don't you just slip on by!"

There was still not much room, but Davina went ahead anyways and turned, sidling between Damon and the narrow arch. Yet as she passed, no matter how far back she pushed herself, she could feel her chest graze against his. Her face went flush immediately as she stepped through the doorway.

"Thanks…" she muttered and tiptoed down the hall to the living room.

"See ya, mousy," Damon smirked, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Davina looked back, standing awkwardly in the living room until she noticed Enzo looking at her expectantly.

"You good?" he said, clicking the heels of his dancing shoes together. There was a pause.

"Yeah, I guess," said Davina.

"Sounds like you met Damon?"

Davina gave a nervous rub to the back of her head, "I guess you could say that."

"Don't mind him," said Enzo, "He's a bit of a…" His hand wavered in front of his mouth, miming the swig of a flask.

"Oh," Davina gave a knowing nod, "Okay."

"C'mon, let's go."

Then they left.

—

As Enzo dropped Davina off, Josh opened the door of the townhouse and greeted them both with smiles and kisses to the cheek. Enzo accepted his graciously and then, bidding Davina good-bye, gave his own to Davina's right cheek. She blushed and smiled, then with a quick thanks for the night's entertainment she went inside.

Enzo turned around to see Genevieve standing at the base of the stairs with a tight purse of her thin lips.

"Hit it and split it, huh?" she said.

"Pardon me?" Enzo frowned, taken aback.

"I don't like it when I see a man taking advantage of a student of mine," Genevieve said sharply, wrapping her red-nailed fingers around her hips.

"I'm glad to hear it," Enzo strolled down the stairs and started pacing along the sidewalk without a second glance to the woman following him, "Sounds like you're doing your job."

"That's right," said Genevieve, grasping Enzo by the arm and pulling him around to look at her, "and that includes keeping you away from Davina."

Enzo leaned in a little with a lustful glint in his eyes, and he could see Genevieve lean in almost instinctively before she let go of his arm and stepped back.

"You see, I'm having a bit of a problem making that connection," said Enzo with a smile as he saw her whole body tense up, "She and I, we have no issues. Ask her yourself."

"What do you want from her?"

"Nothing…" said Enzo, but her glower steepened down her face and she gave a telling tilt of her head.

Enzo placed his hands on his chest, "Oh, madam, you have me all wrong! She's _far too _young for me! And her hair – it's too dark. I like my women with a flame in them…"

He glanced up at Genevieve's fiery red hair.

"We're just friends," he added before she could cast her sour glance.

"So it's agreed then," she walked up to him, jutting out her chin so that a curl of her hair fell of and bounced down her shoulder, "that you'd have to be a bit of a _perv_ if you were looking for anything else."

"Oh, we could talk _if'_s all day, darling," Enzo reached out a hand and stroked the curling strand of Genevieve's red hair, "or we could talk _when _and _where_."

"Get your hand off me," Genevieve slapped his hand away and took a backwards step.

Enzo shrugged, "You mind your business and I will mind mine. Fair enough?"

"Whatever it is you're cooking up, leave her out of it."

Enzo shook his head, sucking in a hissing breath, "I'm afraid I can't do that."

Genevieve clenched her jaw and moved not an inch. Enzo realized she was not going to leave until he made some concession, so with a slight bow of his head, he spoke.

"Until next time…" he said, and then disappeared in a blur.

—

"So it's agreed?" said Marcel as they sat together in a triangle. They were in a back room in Marcel's hideout in the woods. Enzo and Thierry were sitting across from each other, and Marcel glanced between them, waiting for confirmation.

"Yeah, sure, we've gone this far," Thierry sighed, "There's no turning back now."

"And everything coming along with you, Enzo?" said Marcel.

Enzo nodded, but as Marcel kept staring, he nodded with greater enthusiasm, "Yeah."

"You getting along with Davina?" asked Marcel.

"Yeah, yeah," Enzo waved a hand dismissively.

Marcel narrowed his eyes at Enzo, "She seemed pretty happy when I saw her last."

"I know," said Enzo, "Everything's coming along as planned."

"I'd hate to see you resort to less…" Marcel looked around for the right word, "…less _honorable_ methods to gain her trust. She's just a kid."

"That's not a concern," Enzo scratched at his chin, and when he saw Marcel's scowl, he rolled his eyes and insisted, "It's _not _a concern."

"And how about Damon?"

"What do you mean?" Enzo frowned.

"I mean I literally had to tear him off Leah to keep him from eating her head off during his last feed," Marcel explained, "Now, I'm willing to work with you as you can see, but if he gets too unpredictable, I'm gonna have to bring him back here."

"I've got _everything _under control, Marcel," Enzo threw his hands up, moving his body in animated gestures with his speech, "Nothing's going to happen. The summit's just a little over a week away – there's nothing to worry about."

"I need for everyone to work together here," Marcel looked between Thierry and Enzo, "Without Damon, the whole plan is nothing. He _has _to be there when the summit's on. Otherwise, we'll just be standing there with our thumbs up our asses when things go down."

"I understand that," Enzo gave a vigorous nod, "_He _understands that. He's _going _to be there and so is Davina."

"Good," Marcel gave a pause and then with a threatening glance to Enzo, said further, "I wouldn't want to have to break our agreement, is all."

Enzo licked his bottom lip, tightening his hand into a fist until his knuckles went white, but he swallowed hard and stretched a winsome smile across his face.

"You have nothing to worry about," he said in a saccharine chirp, "The plan is a _go_."


	17. 17 KLAUS

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**KLAUS**

Though it was a thousand years before, the strange images of his mother's witchcraft propelled starkly to the front of his childhood memories. Esther tried when she could to teach her children how to cast basic spells, in the good days before the Curse, and for a while they could, but as her husband swooped in, she found that most of her children idolized their father's way of life – by hand and sword and blood, as was the Nordic custom.

By the time they had moved to the Vinland, far in the West, it was only her younger sons that showed any interest in learning her talents. Klaus could recall those lessons, the strong smell of burning incense, the dancing smoke that rose from the flames, the blood sacrifice tossed into a melting pot with low utterances of forbidden words.

As he peered down at the grimoire in his lap, he tried to mull over those memories and make sense of what was scrawled across the crinkled papyrus, yellowed over with age. He held another crinkled paper in his hand, holding it over the grimoire, side by side. The symbols looked nearly identical – but for one a circled image had rays about it to indicate the sun and for the other the circle was in a crescent.

"We need a witch," said Oliver, the right hand of the Crescent Wolf pack leader Jackson.

"_Shh!_" Klaus hissed and folded his legs more tightly beneath his body. He was sitting on the ground beneath a camp tent in the bayou.

Oliver and Klaus's distant cousin Cary were standing behind him with curious gazes at the inscrutable symbols written in the grimoire; but Jackson was pacing back and forth with a hasty skip in his step.

Klaus placed the loose leaflet into the old grimoire and closed the book with a heavy thud.

"I know what we need," he said plainly, looking up at the wolves around him. He pushed himself up to a stand with the book in both hands.

"Thank God!" Jackson cried out with a tired wipe of his brow with his palm.

"It is a fairly basic spell – very similar to the spell for the daylight ring, only somewhat reversed, as you can imagine," Klaus walked over and placed the book on a table, stroking his fingers along the frames of the book cover with a brooding look on his face.

"Great!" exclaimed Oliver, "Then we can go and get ourselves a witch and be done with it!"

"That, you see, is the problem," Klaus stroked his chin; now he was the man pacing back and forth, with all eyes watching and waiting for his every word, "Usually, you need a witch that you can trust. Now we could find a witch we do not trust and pay them enough to cast a spell without knowing its purpose or result. But as I said, it is a fairly simple spell; anyone would be able to deduce its purpose; and from there, it would be fairly simple to conclude who would benefit. We cannot risk a witch exposing our alliance to Genevieve or the others."

"So what're you saying?" asked Cary.

"We need a witch!" Klaus threw up a hand, glancing in agreement to Oliver, "But none of the people in this city would take kindly to giving favors to werewolves, and anyone who might would easily be able to make the connection between you and me. No, no, we need to go someplace where all of you are completely unknown, but where we know just enough to be confident that they'd be willing to help."

"You have someplace in mind?" said Oliver.

"I know a man…" Klaus mumbled in search of his words, "I know a man who has the greatest of sympathies to the trials of the werewolf curse, who would be ready and willing to help a fellow wolf allay that curse. And I know for certain that the man has a direct connection to a very powerful witch."

Silence.

"There is only one concern…" said Klaus.

"What's that?"

"If they have even the faintest idea that you are in any way connected to me," said Klaus, "they'll destroy you."

—

Hayley hopped out of her truck in front of the Crescent Wolf's tent the minute Jackson and Cary walked out, heaving backpacks over their shoulders.

"Hey!" Hayley paced up to them and walked by their sides as they approached their own truck, tossing the bags in the bed of the trunk, "Where are you headed?"

She gave a concerned frown toward Jackson, who pulled out the keys from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door to the driver's seat.

"I have some business…" he said, clicking the handle and pulling the door open but not before Hayley thrust her hand out and forced the door back closed.

"With Cary?" Hayley gave a sidelong glance over the truck where Cary was idling outside of the passenger door.

"Oh, it's nothing," Jackson shrugged, "Just some werewolf stuff."

Yet his face, for all its stoicism, had a glint of guilt in his brooding eyes. Hayley saw Oliver walk out in her peripheral, but she locked her eyes on Jackson.

"What the hell, Jackson!" she said with a bite to her words, "_I'm _a werewolf. Tell me."

"Don't worry, love, they will be back before you know it."

Hayley turned to her left to see Klaus standing beside Oliver at the head of the truck.

"What're you doing here?" Hayley said, a streak of anger in her unusually quiet voice.

"When my cousin Cary here has a concern, I hear it," Klaus gestured over to Cary at the opposite end of the truck, "It's a family policy."

Hayley cast a glance between Jackson, then Cary, then Klaus and Oliver. She could see them exchange glances, telling looks; she could see Klaus's smirk, the calm smugness of it. With that, she balled her hand into a fist and punched the side of truck, leaving behind a small dent.

"Un-_fucking_-believable!" she barked and stormed away into the woods, at a pace she did not think was possible with a belly as big as hers.

"Hayley! Wait!" Jackson called after her, but she did not slow down in the slightest. With the next step she took, he had sprinted up in front of her and blocked her from moving forward. She stepped to the side to go around, but he took her by the arm.

Before she could yank away, he spoke, "Please, stop!"

She glared at the hand that held her arm, and he let go. Then, with a dark glint, she glanced up at him, waiting for him to speak.

"Do you really want to know what's going on?" He put out his hands, and her brow raised high.

"Alright," he said, "I'm headed to Mystic Falls."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you now –" Jackson started at which Hayley immediately took a step forward, but Jackson sidestepped and cut her off.

"But I swear to you, I will tell you _everything _when it's done," Jackson took Hayley by the shoulders, and she did not pull away this time, "But right now, no one can hear about it. But it's important. It's for the pack. It's not for Klaus, it's for _us._ And I have to oversee it myself. And when I'm gone, I'm leaving the pack in your hands, Hayley."

Hayley rolled her eyes and looked to the side, "And Oliver's."

Jackson took Hayley by the chin and moved her face forward so that they locked eyes.

"Oliver isn't a leader, he's an enforcer," Jackson explained, "And let him enforce – anything you tell him, he'll do. Don't be afraid to show him his place."

"You know," Hayley leaned into Jackson's touch with a threatening spread of her shoulders and a rise of her chin, "you've said a whole lot of words and not one of them explains what the hell Klaus has to do with any of this."

She forced his hand off her face and took a few steps back.

"We made an alliance with him," Jackson admitted.

"You did _what_?"

"He's agreed to help us…" he paused, "with this thing in Mystic Falls. But in return, we have to help him."

"Are you crazy?"

"Probably," Jackson shrugged, "But if Mystic Falls works out, we'll be so much better off that we'd be beyond any alliance. We'd be our own selves and no one else."

"Don't you think that's a little too good to be true?" Hayley spat out with an incredulous look on her face, "Why would Klaus help you out with something like that?"

"He's not helping. He's suggesting. But he won't do any of the legwork," Jackson took two swift strides up to Hayley, and then gave a wary glance beyond Hayley back at the wolf camp. He could see a distant dot, Klaus perhaps.

Jackson tipped forward and whispered to Hayley, "Trust me, we wouldn't indebt ourselves to him without good reason…and not without backup plans."

Hayley glanced over her shoulder and back at Jackson.

"I trust you, Jack," she whispered back, "But I don't trust him."

"And neither do I – which is why I'm keeping him at arm's length," Jackson leaned in even closer, whispering even lower, "and which is why I trust you to do the same for our pack when I'm gone. Can I trust you?"

Hayley nodded, "But you need to be more honest with me. How can you expect me to lead if you don't include me?"

"You're right," Jackson admitted, "We were wrong to keep you in the dark, but you know, the pack's all yours now. You'll know everything."

"Except what any of this has to do with Mystic Falls."

Jackson sighed and said, "In good time. When it's over with."

"Just…" Hayley stammered, placing a hand on Jackson's arm, "just call me. Stay safe. They're a bunch of loons on that side of the country."

When they walked back, she did not see him – Klaus – and for some reason, that made her worried. She could hear far enough as a wolf; and she knew vampires could hear their fair share as well; she could not begin to imagine how far hybrids could hear.

—

"Oliver!" Jackson shouted out when they reached the truck. He opened the car door and Cary hopped to attention at the passenger's side.

Oliver walked outside of a tent, with Klaus by his side.

"Yeah?" Oliver mumbled.

"We're leaving," said Jackson.

"Finally!" Cary groaned with relief.

"You'll be answering to Hayley while I'm gone," Jackson said offhandedly as Hayley came up from behind, "Obey her."

Oliver frowned instantly and walked up to the truck, a few paces away from Jackson.

"Jack—" Oliver began to protest, but as soon as his lips opened, Jackson stepped forward and loomed in Oliver's face.

"_Obey _her," he growled, peering into Oliver's eyes, "She _is _your rightful queen."

Oliver's muscles loosened, and he crouched into himself, taking a step back. He gave a shrug, nonchalant to the point of being unbelievable.

"_Fine_," he muttered and that took off into the camp tent.

"C'mon, Cary," Jackson said, jumping into the truck, "We gotta go."

"Bye," Cary waved at Hayley with a smile and then closed the door behind him. The engine revved and the car departed, and as the dust subsided, it was only Hayley and Klaus left lingering in front of the camp.

"Well, you don't see _that _every day," Klaus said out of nowhere.

"A power play between wolves?" Hayley chuckled, "You don't spend too much time in the bayou, do you?"

"No, not that," Klaus shook his head, "You just don't often see a woman become a queen in half a second, now do you?"

He gave a gentle tilt of his head and spread an inviting smile across his face.

"But I guess you always were a queen in a way," he remarked, with a finger tapping at his chin, "I don't know why I didn't see it before."

_Beep! Beep!_

A phone rang.

Hayley pulled the cell out of her pocket without giving Klaus a second glance. She answered it.

"Elijah? Hey! No, it's fine, I'm not busy!" she turned around and walked toward the camp, "Hey, thanks for the gift by the way!"

She stopped in her tracks, bringing the phone down from her ear, covering the receiver with her hand.

_Excuse me! _she mouthed to Klaus and then walked into the tent.

"Yeah, it's no problem!" Hayley spoke into the phone, "The party was great! You would have loved it…"

Klaus stood alone for a moment staring into the sky, hands by his side, clenched into fists.


	18. 18 DAMON

**_Bon appetite!_**

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Eighteen**

**DAMON**

Elena had a bit of chocolate syrup in the corner of her upper lip. Her mouth was open wide over the top of the ice cream cone, but as much as she unlatched her jaw, it was just too big for her.

"Don't eat it all at once," Damon said, moving his mouth, vibrating his vocal chords, but he did not hear the words.

"Don't eat it all at once," said a voice, and Damon felt the axis of the world swerve in a sudden jerk, shifting focus onto the man across the table – Stefan. He was sitting across from Elena with cow eyes and a dumb smile on his face.

"Jesus, Stefan," Damon cursed, "Where'd you come from? I didn't even see you there."

But Stefan gave no acknowledgement. In fact, now that Damon glanced between the two of them, neither seemed to notice he was there.

In a voracious lunge toward her ice cream, Elena tilted the cone in a steep angle and with a plop, the whole top scoop fell onto her chest, bounced off onto her lap, and then met the floor with a liquid _splat_.

"_Oh!_" Elena peeped out with a bulge of her eyes, pushing up from her chair and standing to look at the dribbling chocolate mess drooling down her blouse.

Damon immediately moved forward to reach out toward a napkin on the table, but another hand swooped in and grabbed the napkin. Before Damon could react, he saw Stefan standing up and lurching across the table with a hand hurtling forward and crashing into Elena's chest. With sloppy swabs, Stefan clumsily wiped up the chocolate but the more he wiped the deeper the chocolate rubbed into Elena's shirt.

"Wait…" Damon murmured under his breath, glancing between Stefan and Elena from his chair.

A woman gave a distinct cough, clearing her throat.

"Excuse me!" said the mother of three, covering over her youngest child's eyes with a hand, "There are _children _here!"

She gave a severe glare at Stefan's hand, lying on Elena's chest. Stefan yanked back his hand and hid it behind his back with an apologetic smile, while Elena blushed crimson.

"_Wait!_" Damon exclaimed, popping up to a stand, his chair clattering on the floor behind him, "This is all wrong."

He strode up between Stefan and Elena, turning to his brother.

"Stefan, I said all this. You weren't here. This was _me_," he emphasized but neither of them looked at him, "This isn't real. This already happened."

"What already happened?"

Damon turned around – it was Aaron Whitmore standing there behind him with his throat torn up, his esophagus protruding out from his neck like an extra flab of skin.

"You!" Damon's eyes popped as he threw a finger forward, "I _killed _you!"

"What, like you killed those poor girls?" Aaron said with a simple little smile, "Those poor girls who were just walking home in the dark?"

Damon bit his bottom lip and looked down in shame, wagging his head with a shrug.

"That was different," he whispered, "I did that to survive…"

"And me?"

After a long pause, Damon lifted his gaze with a dangerous glint his eyes and a wide open smile stretched across his face.

"I did that for the hell of it."

The room darkened, and Damon found himself standing in shadow with a shallow light glowing over Aaron.

"No wonder…" Aaron mumbled, "No wonder she went back to him."

There was a muffled sound of heated breath, the rustling of blankets, and Damon looked over his shoulder to see a bed standing in the darkness, two bodies gyrating beneath the covers – Stefan and Elena.

"This is a dream…" Damon nodded to himself, "This is a dream…"

"You're right. This is a dream," Aaron walked up to Damon and placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning in and whispering into Damon's ear, "Do you want to know reality? She left you. She doesn't want you. And you know what? She'll never want you again, not after this."

"_Fuck you!_"

Damon swerved around and lunged onto Aaron; they fell with a crash onto hard asphalt, a street in the middle of the woods, with only the bleary headlights to light the way. They were back there, in the highway, where Damon had first murdered Aaron those many weeks ago.

But Damon did not hesitate and reveled again in the wave of joy that rushed through him as his fangs tore through the young man's neck. Drinking his fill, he rocked back and sat on the ground like a bloated leech. He saw Enzo standing by watching with a smile.

There was someone there next to him. A shadowy figure, little more than a silhouette. He heard that low voice, with that accent he swore he heard before.

"I have an idea," said the voice, "I will give you some of my blood…and you will give me some of yours."

—

His eyes opened just as he thrashed over in his bed, rolling off the edge and hitting the hardwood floor.

His skin was hot and wet, covered in sweat, and it was burning, itching all over.

He jumped up and rushed out of his room and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and turning on the fluorescent light.

Damon looked into the vanity mirror over the sink. He had on a long-sleeve t-shirt, but he could still see peaking over the low necked collar, a slight pinkness – a reddening of the skin. He threw off his shirt to see all along his chest and arms a red rash, comprised of hundreds of little bumps swooping down his body in haphazard lines. It was hives.

He brought up his hand to scratch but stopped himself and then quickly put his shirt back on. He opened the door to the bathroom and walked toward his room when he saw a glimpse in the corner of his eye – someone in the living room.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. A beautiful woman. _Elena_.

He froze and turned and stared.

"What?" Davina said with a sheepish shrug, and Enzo leaned forward to peak into the hallway.

"Hello, mate," he said, but Damon bit his lip and walked away into his room, closing the door behind him.

As he turned toward his bed, he realized he had by instinct begun to scratch at his forearm. He stopped himself and rolled up his sleeve, but it was different here. Between the crevasses of his rash there were faint grooves, and as he squinted in the dark, bringing his arm up to his face, he could have sworn that they were bite marks.

With a yawn, he rolled down his sleeve and plopped into bed, hoping for a more restful sleep this time round.


	19. 19 DAVINA

_**Congrats! After you finish this chapter, you will officially be more than HALF-WAY finished with the story. That's right— there are only eighteen more chapters after this. Thanks for reading!**_

_**Bon appetite!**_

**May the Best Man Win**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Davina**

She had seen him every day after school and she did not know why. Sometimes Josh was there, sometimes he wasn't, but Enzo, he was always there, always five minutes early, always smiling, always opening the doors and hovering his hand behind the small of her back when guiding her through the threshold.

She hardly knew him, but she decided halfway through her class that she would go see him again today.

"Davina?" said Monique, but Davina's head was in the clouds, "_Davina!_"

"Hmm?" Davina hummed, giving a distracted glimpse to the seat next to hers.

"Look," Monique leaned over with an aggressive thrust of her head forward, "it's like Friday night, and we're still in this classroom. You wanna know why?"

Davina said nothing.

"Because you're not paying attention," Monique snipped, "The faster we get this done, the faster we get out of here!"

"And the faster we get to _party!_" shouted another of the Harvest girls with a cheerful pump of her hand.

"Gen won't let us out of here until we _all _do this," Monique explained looking around to all of her fellow classmates, "This is a group spell and that means _group_. No solo stuff."

She gave a stern gaze toward Davina.

"Okay," Davina shrugged, pulling out her phone and glancing at it, bunching her lips together. No text, no voicemail, nothing.

"Davina!" Monique snapped, catching Davina's full attention, "I mean it."

Davina slammed her phone onto the hardtop table and looked at Monique daringly.

"Fine!" Davina barked back, "Let's do this!"

She stood up from her chair and walked into the middle of the room, where the chairs and tables had been cleared. There was a salt pentacle outlined surrounded by a circle of charcoal ash and periodically around the circle was a thin white candle with a lambent flame.

Davina thrust out her hands to each side and waited as the others walked up around her. Monique grabbed one and another girl grabbed the other. They stood in a circle and bowed their heads, and it was Davina who first started to chant, loudly, boldly.

Before anyone else uttered a word, the salt pentacle burst into flames. The other girls widened their eyes in surprise and joined in the chant with quiet words, but it was Davina's firm voice that echoed through the classroom.

Monique joined in, raising her voice above Davina's volume and the flames flourished, but Davina chanted more loudly and on a sudden the flames of the candles began to float in the air. There was a bright flash and a sudden pillar of smoke. In a second, it was gone and they all raised their heads.

"It's finished," Davina said and then with a satisfied twirl, turned to her seat, picked up her bag and started toward the door. Yet just before she reached it, Genevieve opened the door.

"Where are you going?" said Gen.

"We finished," said Davina, "I'm leaving."

Genevieve gave a curious pucker of her bottom lip and walked into the classroom to observe. In the center of the ash circle, there was a small doll, with a wooden face and thin strands of red yarn for hair. She stooped down and picked it up from the floor.

"That's what you wanted us to summon, right?" said Davina, lingering still by the doorway, "That doll?"

Gen gave a nod, "Yes…but I've only been gone an hour."

Davina shrugged, "I guess we're fast learners then. Can we go now?"

Gen licked her bottom lip, "That _was _the agreement…"

A couple of the Harvest girls jumped up and down and gave a high-five.

"Party time!" they shouted and quickly collected their things.

"But don't forget to review the spells I gave you," Gen shouted over the chattering girls, "You _will _be tested on them when you get back!"

She gave a sidelong gaze to the door, filled with suspicion, but Davina was already gone.

—

"Josh?" Davina spoke into her phone as her heels clicked speedily across the concrete.

"Hey, girl!" said Josh.

Without delay, Davina blurted into a whirl of words, "He hasn't responded to any of my texts. I think I'm gonna go to his place. You think that's too desperate?"

"Wait!" Josh exclaimed, "What? Who? Why? Huh?"

"Enzo!"

"Wait," Josh repeated, "What? Why? We just saw him a couple of days ago."

Davina bit her lip, "I know it's just—"

"Desperate?" Josh cut off, "Yeah, 'cause that's exactly what it is. We've only known him, what? a week or so? And you've seen him like every evening of like every day. It's coming on a little bit strong, don't you think?"

"Well, I don't know, he's the one that started it, right?"

"Yeah," Josh said, "when he introduced himself outta the blue in a militia training camp. Dee, one word: _sketch!_"

Davina gave a long airy sigh and said nothing, only the clicking of her heels sounding through the phone.

"You were the one that said we should be more open-minded about everything that happened," Davina said in a mumble.

"About everything that happened with Marcel," Josh quickly countered, "not about random guys that stumble out from the street."

"Will you—"

"What?"

"It's just…" Davina faltered, "it's just that I haven't felt this way since…since Tim."

There was a long pause, with only the sounds of their low breaths between them.

"_Wow…_" Davina uttered.

"I know, I'm a jerk, I'm sorry," Josh started.

"No!" Davina exclaimed, "That's not it – I'm here."

"Where?"

"At Enzo's, and there's…" Davina stalled, "I think there's blood on the ground. I gotta call you back."

"Wait, what?! Don't—"

_Click. _

Davina turned the phone off and placed it in her pocket as her eyes hooked onto the sidewalk at the entry of Enzo's townhouse – the door was open. There was a puddle of spattered red at the base of the steps, and as her eyes followed it, there was a trail of claret droplets leading away into the street toward a main strip of the city.

As if spellbound, Davina began to follow the trail, her eyes nailed to the ground, and as the sound of passing cars, honking cars, grew, she realized she had walked a great deal. She was surrounded on each side by little boutique shops, and as she came to a sudden halt, she saw that the trail took a sharp turn into a tapering alleyway, cast over in shadow.

She squinted and gazed into the path, thinking she saw a kneeling silhouette near the end of alley.

"Hello?" she said, her voice traveling hollowly down the way, but there was no movement.

She started to walk down, with the sound of her clipping heels echoing down until her ear tickled and she thought she heard the sounds of heated breaths. She froze. She heard a slurping, tearing, a desperate breath. She walked further – she was near the end of the alley.

There was a body lying limp and motionless on the concrete with its head flapped to the side and its eyes rolled over, but from the wheezing, Davina could tell he was still alive – if barely. Then there was the other man, dressed in leather, stooping over the helpless victim, biting at his neck.

Without thought, Davina brought her hands in front of her and concentrated. She concentrated on that leather-clad man, she concentrated on his head, his brain, the vessels around his brain, and with blink of her eye, the vessel burst and before it could heal, it burst again and again.

"_Ahh!_" Damon shrieked, coddling the temples of his head immediately as the rapid aneurisms hit him like a bat out of nowhere. As he staggered backwards and fell stunned to the ground, he could see her standing there looking at him, and her eyes widened in surprise.

"_Damon_?" she remarked, a glint of a question in her eyes. She sped up to him and began to kneel over him, but upon seeing his wild black eyes, veiny and murderous, upon seeing his brandished fangs and his blood-stained mouth, she cringed by instinct and stepped back. She cast her gaze over to the victim and came up to him, waving a hand and closing her eyes, praying to the Ancestors.

She thought of the man's neck, the man's torn flesh, crushed windpipe, and she imagined it all healed and recovered and fully functional once again.

She opened her eyes – and there she saw him, Timothy, her first love, lying dead on the ground with blood drooling all over him. She screamed and fell back, but when she looked back it wasn't him. It was just some sad poor soul she had never seen before with his throat torn out.

"_Elena_," a soft voice cooed tenderly, "Elena, look! Look, what I caught for you…"

Davina glanced over to see Damon dragging across the floor like a baby who was still learning to crawl. He reached out a hand toward her with a weak smile on his tired face.

"Are you hungry?" he said.

At that, Davina scowled and thrust out her hand. Damon grasped at his forehead again and groaned as the pain rose up inside him, pinning him to the floor.

"Elena," Damon whined, tears budding from the corners of his eyes, "_Elena_, I'm sorry!"

Davina lowered her hands and stared at the man before her – a wretched thing, writhing in the dirt, calling out for mercy.

—

She did not quite remember the exact wording of the spell to ward of watchful eyes, and that was probably why she caught one or two strange glances as she dragged Damon back to the townhouse.

As she closed the door behind her, with Damon's arm slung over her shoulder, she released him; he wobbled forward and fell face first onto the couch.

She stayed at the entry, though, facing the door, leaning her forehead on it, closing her eyes and mulling over her brief, bittersweet vision of Timothy. She saw him dead, as she saw him that day in the dark, poison running through his veins.

"Elena…" Damon called out in a whisper. Davina opened her eyes and saw the strange man, whom she had only twice encountered before now, sprawled across the couch, defenseless. She crept up to him and sat on a sliver of open cushioning on the couch, her torso turned so she could look down on his face. He had an arm slung over his sweaty face to block the light of the room from his squinting eyes.

"Why did you do that?" Davina said coldly.

Damon reached up his hand and cupped Davina's cheek.

"Why did you kill that man?" Davina repeated, emotionless.

Damon stroked her cheek.

"Hi, babe," he said with a smile, but Davina pinched her lips together and snatched his hand, shaking it firmly.

"_Tell me!_" she screamed. But with ease, he overpowered her grip and again reached forward. As he pushed up from his pillow, he grappled Davina by the back of the hair, forcing her head toward him as he kissed her hard on the lips.

The door opened.

By instinct, Davina tugged away, but Damon clung to her. It was only Enzo that stopped him as he appeared next to them and held Damon down long enough for Davina to wiggle free.

"Damon!" Enzo held Damon with each hand clutching at Damon's ears, "Damon! Look at me!"

Damon locked eyes with Enzo.

"It's time for bed…okay?"

Damon nodded, and then as if sleepwalking, Damon docilely followed as Enzo guided him down the hall and into Damon's room. Enzo closed the door and came back into the living room, where Davina lingered with a look of ire wrought into her glowering face.

She marched up to him and brought up her hand to slap him, but Enzo seized the hand and stopped her. She pulled her arm away and marched back to the couch, sitting with an airy _humph!_

"I've been meaning to explain…" Enzo scratched the back of his head with a hesitant shrug.

"Oh?" Davina snipped sharply.

"To explain about Damon…" Enzo continued.

"Yes?"

"The thing is…" Enzo went on, gaining a little more confidence, "The reason I am here in this city is because of him. The reason I owe Marcel that favor…it's because of Damon. He's my oldest friend. I'm trying— no, I _have _to help him."

"Help him kill people?"

Enzo looked aghast, "What?"

"Yeah!" Davina shouted, tears dripping from her eyes, "That's what I caught him doing: eating someone's head off!"

She balled up onto the couch and hid her head between her knees, resisting the last urge until she snorted out a sob.

Enzo found himself awkwardly lingering a stride or two from the couch. He cleared his throat and sat next to Davina, bringing out his arm uncertainly before patting her with a forced but sympathetic bunching of his lips. Yet as she slid into his touch, his comfort grew and he spread his arm around her shoulders and let her cry there in his embrace a moment.

After a while in silence, Enzo uttered softly, "I'm sorry…"

He wiped away a loose strand of her hair from her face and smiled down at her.

"You want the truth?" Enzo said, and Davina pushed back and looked at him squarely, nodding.

"The truth is…" Enzo began, "Damon is a good friend, an old friend, but he has a way of rubbing people the wrong way. And he just happened to rub the wrong person the wrong way, and that person…they did something to him. Infected him. That's why he's like…this."

"He's sick?"

Enzo nodded as he drew his fingers through Davina's hair, "Yes. But I found a way to save him, to get the cure, but I have to work with Marcel in order to get it done."

Davina nodded knowingly, "That favor you keep mentioning?"

Enzo drew away from Davina, withdrawing into a distant corner of the couch where his head sagged a tad.

"The men in charge are looking for Damon. Yes, Damon may have done things…bad things…but he couldn't help it, he didn't even _know _he was doing it," Enzo bent forward, his elbows on his knees, "You can't punish someone when they have no grasp of anything they've done, it isn't right—isn't just."

"The men in charge—" Davina stopped herself, shaking her head, "no, the _vampires _in charge don't know what justice is."

"But Marcel is…don't you think he is?" Enzo said, "He seems fair."

"I guess."

"But he can't be fair, can't help, so long as these men are in charge," Enzo scooted closer to Davina, "which is why he needs to be in charge."

"What're you saying?" Davina frowned, "Is this some…conspiracy?"

Enzo grimaced, wagging his head firmly, "No. Everybody already knows that these men are—Klaus, Elijah—they have no concept of reality. They're so stooped in oppression, they'll never be able to achieve any semblance of what the people want. But the people _know _what they want…"

Davina raised a brow.

"What _do _they want?" she asked.

And Enzo smiled.

"Marcel," he said.


End file.
